


You're Not In This Alone

by Itsagoodthing (itzagoodthing)



Series: You're Not in This Alone [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Back injury, Caretaking, Fluff, Head Injury, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Original Character(s), Some angst, Stubborn Mandalorians, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:47:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23016493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzagoodthing/pseuds/Itsagoodthing
Summary: While struggling with the lingering injuries sustained from the battle on Nevarro, Din's a little floored when he gets a hand from one of the last people he would have ever expected to.
Series: You're Not in This Alone [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867132
Comments: 128
Kudos: 688





	1. What are the odds?

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am still working on Out of Space and Time. In fact, I’m almost ready to post the next chapter. However, this crazy bit of angst/hurt/fluff/softness kept tumbling through my head, so I wrote it out really fast. No idea how well it’ll go over, so if you’re interested and want it to continue, please let me know. If you think it’s a piece of trash, please let me know if I’m off my rocker, and you might want to recommend a good therapist while you’re at it.  
> Seriously, I just need to know if there is an interest out there in the Mandalorian Wonderland of Fic.  
> I love you all!
> 
> This is my take on the injuries Din might have been dealing with after being so close to the E-Web ammunition crate when it blew. Yes, IG was a doll and sprayed our boy’s head with Bacta, healing his skull fracture and brain damage. However, I don’t think that it would have healed the other injuries that he might have also sustained. So, I inflicted a bit of lingering concussion side effects and other damage back onto the Mandalorian. Nothing permanent, just something he needs to work through over the next few chapters. I’m thinking maybe a three-parter. I hope whoever reads this finds it interesting. (Because that would mean I might not be as crazy/unstable/obsessed as I think I am!)

* * *

Walking out of the cantina on Jakku, Paz headed for the tribe’s covert—a temporary one at least.

Twelve of them had managed to escape off-world after wiping out the imps that had attacked their tribe on Nevarro. They stuck together and landed on the nearest moon, the furthest their jet packs would take them.

From there, they hired a pilot to take them with him on his way to Jakku. The topic on the long trip had been one they all shared a common frustration about—Din Djarin.

While it had been noble that he had saved the child, Paz, for the life of him, could not understand why he had ever turned him in to begin with. If Din had just come to the covert with the child, they could have laid out a plan to keep it safe while still preserving their own survival.

Instead, they ended up revealing themselves in a big way to help the Mandalorian escape with his foundling.

The result had ruined their home, their tribe, and their base of operations.

Paz has known Din ever since he was brought into the tribe as a foundling. They’ve had a rocky friendship over the years, but he’s always known Djarin to be an honorable warrior.

As his fellow Mandalorians sat around spewing plans of revenge, Paz sat and listened to them, but he never joined in because, while he was heart sickened at the loss of his brothers and sisters in arms, sickened and just fucking destroyed at the foundlings that had died trying to protect their tribe, in the back of his mind he knew better than to pretend he had all the facts.

One day, he would sit and talk with Din. Whenever he was able to catch up with him, he would find out what exactly went on the day that went straight to shit for all of them.

If he didn’t like what he heard, then maybe he’d beat the guy straight into the ground.

Now, walking down the dirt street that ran through the marketplace, Paz was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a nearby fight. Stopping, Paz cocked his head and zeroed in on the noises he was hearing. Turning down an alleyway, he used the visor on his helmet to look through the buildings until he found the heat signature of six people.

His pace picked up when he overheard grunts and insults being hurled in Mando’a.

Turning the corner, Paz found five of his brothers attacking one of their own. Walking up to the group, he hoped he was wrong, but even before he saw the Beskar armor, in his gut, he had known he would find Din Djarin taking the brunt of the assault.

He’d just been contemplating over the man and his actions.

What were the fucking odds?

Watching, Paz crossed his arms over his chest, trying to decide if he needed to intervene. His immediate thought was: No. It wasn’t exactly a fair fight, he would agree to that, but Djarin was holding his own. He was easily the best fighter out of the group of them.

Even so, there was something off about his movements that bothered Paz. He seemed stiff, and his actions were not at all like he remembered them to be.

Hand to hand combat for Din Djarin had always looked like a dance. Throwing punches, ducking and spinning, disarming, and hurling bodies through pivot points, his movements were like fluid grace. Never jerky or delayed, every move he made flowed straight into the next.

Today, Paz was noticing a startling lack of that fluid grace from his long-ago friend.

Again, his gut nagged him about there being something off in a big way.

Five to one, he could let that slide, but not when that one was clearly off his game—especially when he was one of their own. The honorable thing would be to let Djarin recover from whatever was tipping the scales out of his favor, and then have a rematch when they were all on an even keel.

Decision made, Paz stepped up to the group, pushing his way through when a Mandalorian almost as big as he was grabbed Din by his cloak and slung him around so hard, his feet left the ground as he was flung into the side of a stone building.

Din’s side hit with a heavy smack. He dropped to the ground and struggled but wasn’t getting back up.

Paz started throwing his brothers out of his way as he made a hole and stepped through the ring of warriors. The one who rang Djarin’s bell had him by the sleeves of his flak vest and was hauling him to his feet.

Din’s hands came up to grip the Mandalorian’s wrists, but that’s all he did as the aggressor growled at him to stand and fight.

Paz grabbed the Mandalorian who was busy throwing Din back to his feet. He had let go of the injured man and then lunged for him again, and Paz blocked his advance, watching as Djarin staggered back against the building. His legs gave out, and he slid to the ground.

The others edged in, and Paz spun to face them. Taking a step over Din’s legs, he straddled the downed soldier, hollering, “Enough!”

“Out of the way, Paz,” demanded the Mandalorian that had just thrown Djarin around like a ragdoll. “I don’t have a beef with you, but I will not hesitate to go through you to finish what was started.”

“Try it, Viox, and I will lay you out flat,” Paz gritted through his clenched teeth. Looking between the other four, he promised, “That goes for all of you.” His gaze skipped among the group, demanding, “What is wrong with you? Have you no honor?”

No one answered, and he stated, “It is one thing to settle grievances with our brother through a fair fight, but you can clearly see the man is injured. Is this why you fight him now? Because you know it is the only way you could beat him?”

None of them dared to challenge him, partly because they knew he was right, and partly because they knew he would make quick work of finishing what Djarin could not.

Paz walked up to Viox until their helms touched, ordering, “Leave now, before I let what remains of our tribe know of the cowardly actions by you and your collaborators.”

Viox blew out a burst of air, “This isn’t finished.”

Advancing forward, Paz forced the other Mandalorian back a step, saying, “It is for today.”

He held Viox’s visor in his sights for another minute and then looked at the men that still lingered behind him. Two had already left; the other two looked skittish enough that when Paz growled, “Leave—” they did.

His visor turned to lock on Viox again, and the man took a step away. Glancing down at the Mandalorian on the ground, he spat out an insult and then turned and walked off.

Paz watched them until he was sure they weren’t going to change their minds, and then he turned and looked at the one on the ground behind him.

Crouching down, Paz looked him over. Din was leaned back against the outside wall of the building. Helmet tipped back, his breaths were sharp and ragged.

Laying a hand on his shoulder, Paz asked, “What do you need?”

Din’s visor turned to him. A huff of air passed through the voice modulator, and he asked, “You sure you don’t want to get in a few shots of your own?”

Paz knew the younger man was uncertain about where he stood with him and squeezing his shoulder, Paz told him, “You know me better than that, Djarin.” He then added, “There’s no sport in it. I’d be bored.”

Din’s chuckle was breathy and strained. The back of his helmet rolled along the stone wall, and he pointed at a wooden barrel nearby. “The kid,” he swallowed hard. “Get the kid, Paz.”

Looking to his right, Paz got up and took a couple of steps to the barrel and looked inside.

Thanks to the desert climate on Jakku, it was bone dry, but not empty. Looking back up at him with innocent eyes sat Djarin’s foundling.

He had heard the kid wasn’t human, but he had no idea that he was this damn cute.

Out of the corner of his visor, he noticed Din turn and watch him reach into the barrel and pull out the child. Placing him in the crook of his arm, Paz spoke softly, “Why, hello there, little one.”

The child looked up at him and cooed. Then he looked at where his _buir_ was and made grabby hands for him. Paz walked the child over and passed him down to the bounty hunter who was already reaching for his foundling.

Paz crouched down again and watched the babe turn into Din’s side as he pulled it close. Djarin rested his head against the wall behind him, and Paz heard him breathe out a sigh.

He touched Din’s shoulder for the second time in only minutes, asking, “Where are you injured?”

Din looked at him, but he didn’t say anything. He was still acting guarded in his presence, and speaking softly, Paz assured, “I just want to help.”

Din’s visor faced him for a beat and then sighing, he divulged, “Head and back.”

A drop of worry ignited in Paz’s gut. Those were two areas you just don’t mess around with when it came to injuries, and he had the urge to get the hurt Mandalorian somewhere safe to check him over.

Paz nodded, asking, “Where’s the _Crest?_ The shipyard?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, that’s not far. Can you walk?”

A bitter chuckle passed through Din’s modulator, and he replied, “Not yet, I can’t.”

Paz frowned, and that drop of worry bloomed into a burning ball of dread as he looked over the downed Mandalorian again. That was when he’d noticed how the warrior’s legs lay slightly skewed against the sandy dirt of the alleyway. He also realized that they hadn’t moved an inch since Din slid down the building a few minutes ago.

“Djarin,” Paz’s voice became stern, “What is going on?”

Not waiting for an answer, Paz moved to rise, declaring, “I’m dragging over the first healer I find.”

“No,” Din grabbed his arm before he could get up. Shaking his head, he told Paz, “No. My back is messed up; it’s just a stinger. Give me a moment, and it should pass.”

_“Should?”_

Din shrugged.

The motion was sloppy and not at all what Paz had come to expect from a man whose every action came from a place of purpose and control.

Leaning forward, Paz felt around the base of Din’s helmet, checking for blood. He found none, and he growled, “Explain. Now.”

“Later. I Promise,” Djarin breathed, sounding like he was straining, and then started drawing up his knee.

The movement was jerky, and it looked like it was taking considerably too much effort to do, but Paz still felt a weight lift at the new progress.

Holding out a hand, Din asked, “Will you help me get back to my ship?”

Paz looked him over, “Should you even be moving?”

Din’s hand dropped, and his arm draped over his drawn-up knee, “Not really, but I’ve got to get the kid out of here. It’s not safe.” Looking at Paz, his voice sounded drained and breathy as he said, “I can’t make it right now without help. Don’t make me crawl, Vizla.”

Again, Din extended a hand, and, against his better judgement, Paz exhaled a weighted sigh and clasped the man’s gloved one into his own.

He gave him a hand up, and Din grunted as he tried pushing to his feet. He wasn’t getting very far, and Paz hooked an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders, bringing him up off the ground. Paz started to let go, and the kid cursed as he started to sink back down. Grabbing him again, Paz draped his arm around his neck.

“Thanks,” Din exhaled, and Paz watched him with mounting concern at how hard it was for him to put one foot in front of the other. Again, he told him, “I should be taking you to the nearest healer.”

Din shook his head, “Seen plenty of healers over the past few weeks.” He held the kid close, panting as he continued, “Now it’s just to a point where all that’s left do is finish recovering and rebuild my strength.”

Din’s helmet turned toward Paz, “Things were going decently enough until the welcome wagon showed up today.”

Paz grunted in acknowledgement. 

He stuck to the alleyways and out of the public eye as much as possible as he led Din back toward the shipyard. Stealing a glance, he took note of how Din was moving a little bit better than a minute ago. It still looked like a terribly exhausting trek for the man, and Paz said, “You shouldn’t even be out here. You should be resting somewhere safe.”

Din laughed. It was a clipped, worn-out, and somewhat loopy sound, as he told him, “Paz, nowhere is safe for me right now.”

~~

Inside the ship, Paz lowered Din to sit on the nearest crate, but the man struggled to remain on his feet, and Paz asked, “What are you doing?”

One arm tucking the child close against his side, Din tried shrugging off Paz’s hold, telling him, “I’ve got to get us out of here. Thank you, brother, for the assist, but if you want to stay on Jakku, you need to leave the ship.”

He started to get up again, and Paz pushed him back down, snapping, “Would you stop for one damn minute and tell me what the hell is going on with you.”

Din sighed, “I don’t have time to tell you right now. I can once we’re in flight, but if you want to stay on-world, you need to go. Now.”

“Tell me why.”

“Damnit, Paz!” Din growled, shooting to his feet, “I don’t have t—” he didn’t get to finish before managing to stumble while standing still.

Paz grabbed ahold of the man, thinking he couldn’t remember a time when he’d witness Djarin looking so wrecked. Mindful of the babe in his arm, Paz pulled Din in close, keeping him on his feet, and asserted, “You have time for three sentences.”

Din huffed, and Paz knew he remembered the protocol for debriefing while under fire on the battlefield.

Looking at him, Din relayed, “Imps are hunting the kid. The scuffle your pals started will have drawn attention. I need to get him out of here before hunters, or a squad of troopers shows up.”

Visor to visor, Din spoke through clenched teeth, “Staying or leaving?”

Paz looked out the open bay door. He wanted to stay and help the tribe get a base of operations set up, felt the duty to put in his part.

He also had a duty to protect the foundling, considering Djarin was going to need help if something happened. He couldn’t send the two of them off on their own with Din being injured like he was.

Plus, he was just too curious over what the hell happened over the past few months to walk away now.

Looking at Din, he answered, “Staying.”

Din gave him a nod of acceptance, and then touched his vambrace, closing the hull. He let Paz support him as they made their way through the ship, but when Din went to reach for the ladder to the cockpit, Paz manhandled him past it.

“What are you doing?” he barked, resisting as Paz forced his momentum forward. They came upon his sleeping quarters, and Paz dragged him inside the small room.

“Paz!”

Din was pissed, and Paz understood. He’d be pissed too if he had so little control over being hauled around.

They stopped beside Din’s bunk, and Paz said, “You and the little one stay here. I’ll go up and get us off-world.”

Din tensed at the ultimatum, and Paz told him, “You can try to fight me on it, but we both know that in your current state, there’s no way you’ll win. If you want to get out of here, don’t waste time trying.”

The injured Mandalorian looked like he was going to resist, but then he looked down at the bundle in his arm. He must have decided that getting out of there was more important than his pride because he questioned, “Do you even remember how to fly the ship?”

“I’ll wing it,” Paz replied, being careful as he pushed Din toward the bunk. Blowing out a breath, he sat on the edge, and Paz hesitated to leave.

Placing the kid next to his side, Din pushed himself up against the bulkhead, saying, “I got it. Go. Get us out of here.”

“Someplace particular?”

“No. Just hit hyperspace—anywhere that isn’t here.”


	2. Thoughts and Coordinates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, you guys! So much love for you all. I was so nervous about posting this story because I absolutely LOVE to write heavy whump/hurt/fluff/caretaker stuff. I mean, like I could do this all day every day, and I worry that my style can be a little heavy on the whump/care compared to what is usually preferred by others. Anyway, just, thank you. 
> 
> So, this chapter is a little short, but I have most of Chapter 3 finished. That might get uploaded today or tomorrow if I’m lucky. I’m thinking of making this into a series after this initial story wraps up. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy this little bridge between Chapters 1 and Chapter 3.

* * *

When Din had asked if he remembered how to fly the _Crest,_ Paz hadn’t been all together joking by saying he would just wing it. It had been easily fifteen years since he’d last sat in the pilot’s seat—any pilot’s seat, for that matter.

Paz gave himself a moment to look at the controls, and then he reached out and started flipping switches. Pleased as the ship seemed to be coming alive in the correct way, he relaxed and let his memory guide him through the rest of the startup sequence.

The _Razor Crest_ vibrated as her thrusters came to life; first, the left and then the right. He pushed forward on the correct lever, and the ship lifted off the ground.

She wobbled just a bit until Paz increased the throttle, and then it was smooth sailings as she shot into the sky, breaking through the atmosphere, and left the sandy earth of Jakku behind.

Bringing up the Nav system, Paz took Din’s advice and punched in the name of a planet just one start-system away. It would be a short distance, meaning the computer would plot the coordinates quickly, giving them an initial jump away from any potential threat on Jakku. Then, he could allow the time it would take the Nav to calculate a destination much farther away.

A flat ready-tone alerted from the console, and Paz pressed the ship’s intercom, warning, “Hyperspeed in three… two…” He confirmed their destination with a press of a button. “… one.”

The stars streaked across the glass surrounding the cockpit in long, trailing lines, and then they were gone.

Sitting in the cockpit, Paz kept expecting the sliding doors behind him to open and Din to come stumbling through.

The man’s stubborn streak ran strong in legendary proportions that closely rivaled his own. However, the longer he sat up there alone, the more Paz’s expectation for him to arrive waned, and he hoped Din had chosen to be smart and get some rest.

Searching for a faraway star-system within the _Crest’s_ fuel limits, Paz wondered how bad things had been for the man on the deck below.

Din had told him he’d seen a healer—or had that been healer _s_?—for weeks.

Leaned back in the pilot’s seat, Paz gave himself a moment to think. His gloved hand pulled along the back of his neck as he remembered Din sitting on the ground at the dead-end of that alleyway. He couldn’t stop hearing the sickening smack of armor and flesh striking the stone wall. 

Djarin hadn’t been able to move his fucking legs for close to ten agonizing minutes.

Din talked about it like it was a setback in his recovery. Paz had taken that to mean, at one point, things had been that bad—probably a safe bet to think it had been even worse.

The swirling vortex of hyperspace reflected off the blackout of his visor as he let his questions roll through his mind. What kind of battle had Din been through to cause such an injury? Did he have other injuries—he mentioned his head, didn’t he? How did he manage to take care of the kid while recovering? Did he have outside help? Had he been unwilling to seek out the Tribe for help because he thought they were all dead or because he had heard the rumors of being cast out?

Paz’s teeth clenched in detest over that last thought.

He knew someone from within the Tribe leaked details of their trials on Nevarro. He couldn’t exactly blame whoever caused it.

To put it in the loosest of terms: it had been a traumatic event to live through.

Paz knew some of the less-seasoned soldiers would have been the most likely to give in to a moment of weakness and bare their soul, just to ease the pain of holding it all inside.

Familiar with the effects of PTSD caused by battle and loss, Paz knew how the memories crashed against the mind, stomped through the heart, and ripped apart the soul in a desperate effort to be released.

There were ways to alleviate the deadly pressure they put on a person’s lifeforce. Violence was one. Sex was another, and the talking that usually followed behind heavy drinking crossed the finish line as a strong third.

However, it began, it didn’t take long for Paz to catch wind of one of the many variations being spread in the hushed, dark corners in Navarro’s star-system. It didn’t matter which one spread around what world, all of them had been a fucking lie.

The tribe had never considered disowning the Mandalorian because of what had happened after they helped him escape with his foundling.

How could they when Din never asked for their help in the first place?

Intel of the situation had reached the Armorer, she had given the order to assist, and they had followed it. End of story.

After the rumors, the blame game sparked to life inside the Tribe. The first ones among their remaining numbers to use Din as a scapegoat for their losses were the distraught and the grieving. Their misguided wailings and cries for justice against one of their own could be understood and forgiven. Paz knows all too well how grief can twist the mind into something ugly and, if not checked, can turn the best of us into a walking rendition of our worst days.

It was one thing to sit around and vent about events, to speculate on what happened behind the scenes that brought Din and his foundling together. The sharing of frustrations within the Tribe was acceptable.

It was something entirely different to bastardize those grieving speculations with a call for vengeance without knowing the facts. Those who ran their mouths, speaking loudly and making themselves feel important, only ended up feeding the growing mob mentality within their shaken tribe. It was those that Paz wanted to pummel until they pissed themselves and begged for mercy.

He couldn’t tolerate small-minded individuals. It was a crime of galactic proportions that the small-minded usually proved to have the biggest mouths.

Looking over at the Nav computer, Paz leaned forward and scrolled through the details of a planet that matched their fuel capacity, along with the other parameters he had added to the search. He confirmed the coordinates, and the ship adjusted their hyperspace travel with seamless ease.

Once their course was updated, and underway, Paz pushed himself to his feet. The sliding doors opened for him, and he took the ladder down to the bottom deck. Hopping down the last four rungs, Paz’s boots hit the durasteel floor, and he turned toward Din’s quarters to check on him and the kid.

Light spilled into the narrow hallway as he approached the room, and if Paz didn’t have his own experience with severe back pain, the position he found Din in would have made him think he had somehow fallen off his bunk.

Fortunately, Paz knew better.

On the floor, lying on his back, Din had his calves resting on the bunk above him. Paz knew it to be the, _My back fucking hurts, and this is the only position that isn’t killing me,_ position. The unyielding surface of the floor would keep his spine in alignment, and having his legs on the bed above, reduced the pressure on the lower back.

As a bonus, Paz knew the thermodynamics of the durasteel deck would pull in a fraction of the subzero temperatures of space, making for one big-assed cold pack.

Din didn’t move as he walked up. Probably asleep, thought Paz.

Looking down, the first thing that grabbed his attention was the black brace that sat discarded at the end of the bunk.

Reaching out, Paz picked it up.

It was somewhat flexible, with rigid support added to critical areas. It was also easy to assume the brace had been responsible for some of the stiffness Paz had seen in Din’s movements while defending himself in the alley.

Setting it back on the bunk, Paz looked down at Din. He had covered himself with his cloak from hips to chin. Taking a closer look, Paz barely caught sight of the tips to a pair of big green ears sticking out of the thick material to brush against the bottom edge of Din’s helmet.

_Din Djarin with a baby._

Paz drew in a quiet breath, and the corner of his mouth ticked upward at the thought.

Crouching by the pair, he noticed an IV line snaking out from under Din’s cloak. He eyed it, following it up to a clear liquid bag hanging above the bunk. Paz pushed back to his feet and went to it.

Reading the description told him it was a Bacta infusion. Nodding to himself, Paz felt a little better about the kind of care the younger Mandalorian had procured for himself.

Paz knew the man blamed himself for at least some part of what happened at the covert. He knew Din too well to believe otherwise. It was good to see that despite the guilt, he had enough sense to seek out proper care for his injuries.

He also knew Din enough to realize he had done it, not for himself, but for the kid he was now responsible for. Paz didn’t want to think about the different choices Din might have made if he didn’t have the kid. He didn’t let himself think about how easily Din might have allowed himself to simply succumb to his injuries, feeling unworthy of repair. 

Shaking the thought from his mind, Paz grabbed the blanket on the bed and draped it over the bounty hunter as much as he could without disturbing where it lay trapped under his legs.

Turning to leave the room, Paz gave the clan of two a final glance, and then he turned off the light and headed back up to the flight deck.


	3. Bring Me Up to Speed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much headcanon in this fic. Especially in this chapter.  
> Alternative Universe: I tinkered with the end of episode 8 a bit.  
> Don’t hate me for it.  
> If you make it to the end of this chapter and are still loving it, then I suggest creating a gang, and we’ll call ourselves the Whump Brigade.  
> Oh, hey, looks like we need one more chapter after this one to wrap things up.

* * *

A cold tingling in his feet pulled Din out of the dream. It was a reoccurring one he’s had ever since learning he'd turned in his foundling for an unimaginable amount of beskar ingots. 

It always starts with Din turning the kid in. He leaves, gets his Beskar suit of armor, goes back for the kid, and then one of two scenarios play out: either he is too late, and they have already murdered the child, and what he sees when he finds him— the terms horrifying and devastating only begin to describe the scene.

The other version has him getting to the child in time, but they never make it off Nevarro. The child is ripped from his arms as he lies in the street, bleeding out. He dies, listening to the child's wailing screams for him.

Both dreams usually have him waking with a shout, breathing hard, and heart slamming against his chest. It was a mercy that he got pulled out of this one before the climax had a chance to unfold.

Opening his eyes, darkness greeted him. It confused Din at first because he was sure that he had left the light on before positioning himself onto the floor.

The sensation unpleasant enough to rouse him from the dream intensified, refocusing his mind on the fact that he had kept his legs raised on the bunk for too long.

Forgetting about the curious light issue, for now, Din started to pull his leg back to lower it down to the floor. He felt a strange resistance as he moved. It was like he was tangled up in something.

Using the light on the side of his helm, Din raised his head enough to see his blanket folded around his bottom half.

 _Paz_.

The status of the room’s light made sense now.

Din switched his focus back to his tingling legs and moved to kick off the heavy blanket. Performing the action took more concentration than should have been necessary.

The Bacta had repaired the damage enough from earlier to grant him better mobility than he had leaving the alley, but he was still frustratingly weak. 

He figured he could lay there and battle against the blanket for a while until he freed himself, using up the little strength he’d gotten back, or he could be smart and try a different approach.

Din took a chance at reaching for the edge of the blanket laying over his thigh. He knew, with the little setback today caused, his back wouldn’t like the curved posture, but he thought if he could reach the very minimum of the corner, he might be able to get away with it.

Taking a breath, he exhaled, contracting his stomach muscles, and mindfully raised his shoulders off the floor as he reached for the blanket. He got just past halfway there before the swelling around his spine caused his back to lockup. The sharp slice of pain that followed was mean enough to punch a strangled grunt straight from his gut.

Din fell back against the floor and breathed for a minute.

He was trapped in place by a damned blanket.

The situation was utterly ridiculous, and he couldn’t decide if he should be mad or laugh. It was so absurd, his frustrated mind took it a step further by briefly entertaining the idea that Paz knew what he was doing when he’d covered him. A seemingly innocent tactic to weigh him down and keep him off his feet.

Forced recuperation by entrapment.

Looking back down at his legs, he sighed. “Okay…” Din told himself. “Plan C.”

Careful to keep the sleeping babe centered on his chest, Din used his arms to scoot his body away from the bunk, giving himself enough room to pull his feet down to the floor. Still tangled in his legs, the fucking blanket followed after.

It didn’t matter. With his legs no longer positioned higher than the rest of his body, Din could finally kick most of it off. He wasn’t 100% freed, but it was enough to get up off the floor.

Reaching for the blanket earlier told him that merely rising up wasn’t going to happen today. He was going to have to sit up like he used to shortly after the explosion, and, holding the child against himself, Din rolled onto his side.

The plan was to hold the child with one hand and prop himself up with the other. From there, he would be able to draw his hips in and rise up the rest of the way.

It was a good plan, one he had relied on for a time, but pushing himself off the floor, things got tricky as the room started to spin. Nothing was going his way today.

Dropping back down to his elbow, Din shut his eyes against the vertigo.

Bacta was powerful medicine, and he could tell a significant improvement from before he had hooked up the infusion. Still, he only had one bag, and that last hit he’d taken against the wall during the ambush had screwed with him hard. One infusion wouldn’t be enough to erase all the effects of the setback. Hell, he’d lost count on how many damn infusions he’s had since almost dying on Nevarro, and he was _still_ recovering.

No. He was still recovering. Period.

Changing the voice in his head, he stopped his thoughts there, before they could jump down a dark tumbling hole of self-pity and frustration over lingering, long-standing limitations.

He was still recovering. He was still getting better.

 _This isn’t permanent._ Cara’s voice floated through his mind, assuring him with the familiar promise. It was one she had stressed to him over and over again those first few days after waking up in the Guild’s medbay.

“Need a hand?”

Still propped on his elbow, Din’s eyes snapped open.

The light was on, Paz was standing behind him, and he never heard him approach. He wanted to shake his head at how far off his game he was but just ended up giving himself a pass, figuring his jacked-up system had earned him one.

Paz crouched beside him, and Din shut off the lamp on his helmet, saying, “Sure.”

A large gloved hand landed over the one Din used to hold the child against himself, and Paz said, “Give him to me. I’ll lay him in his pram.”

Din nodded. With Paz supporting the child, he reached back and released the catches to his cloak.

He watched as hands that ripped into enemies on the battlefield, pulled the babe away with a tenderness Din would never have guessed the big guy could have managed.

Wrapping the foundling in the thick material liberated from Din’s shoulders, Paz laid him down in the pram beside the bunk.

He came back and, with a grip that was still far more careful than Din had expected, Paz supported him and helped him to his feet.

Standing made the room wobble, and the floor threatened to slip out from under him. The walls started to spin again, and to keep his balance, Din grabbed the material of Paz’s undershirt just below his pauldron.

Paz stood with him, asking, “What is it?”

“Dizzy,” he muttered, closing his eyes again.

“C’mon and sit down,” Paz spoke, and Din didn’t fight him this time as he was led a couple of steps over to his bunk.

Paz let him set the pace as he sank, coaxing his back into accepting the new position. Turns out, it was too much like when he had sat up, reaching for the blanket, and that same sharp, locked feeling exploded for a second time.

Din managed to swallow down the gasp this time, but he still jolted in response and quickly changed his trajectory. Lying flat, he brought up his feet and just breathed for a second.

A heavy hand landed on his arm, and Din cracked open a careful eye. The room seemed to stabilize in this position, and he looked at Paz fully, telling him, “I’m okay.”

“You’re parsecs from okay, _beroya,”_ Paz’s deep voice informed him, and Din closed his eyes again. He couldn’t exactly disagree with the statement, and there just wasn’t anything else to say about it.

Paz said, “This is done,” and Din felt him messing with the line he had inserted earlier into the back of his hand. Letting him remove it, Din looked over at the pram.

Paz’s visor faced him and then followed his gaze and glanced at the child.

Gathering up the used medical supplies, the man left the room, and then came back carrying one of the crates from the cargo hold. Setting it down beside his bunk, Paz took a seat, leaning forward to drape his forearms over his knees. Looking at the babe, he said, “He sleeps a lot, doesn’t he?”

Din’s exhale was heavy, and he answered, “No.” Paz turned to face him, and he explained, “He’s exerting himself, trying to help me. It drains him.”

The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted at him, “Help you—how?”

Din kept his gaze fixed on the child. Maker, where does he even start? Taking a breath, he turned back to Paz, telling him, “The child, he has powers.”

“Powers.”

“Yes.”

“What kind of powers?”

“Levitation, telekinesis, and healing—that I know of.”

“And you have experienced these powers? Seen them with your own eyes?”

“Yes.”

Paz exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. He’s a smart guy, so when his brain did a little bit of calculating the information he already knew, Din wasn’t surprised when he made the jump, stating, “And this is why mercs and squads of stormtroopers are hunting him.”

“Actually,” Din clarified, “A Moff of the Empire is hunting him, who hires the mercs and sends the squads of stormtroopers.”

Paz nodded. Looking down, he picked up Din’s nemesis and held it up in a silent offering. Din waved off the blanket, and Paz tossed it at the end of the bunk.

Eyeing where it lay, Din said, “On second thought, let me see that.”

A gloved hand reached out and grabbed it, handing it over, and Din piled it off to the side, within reach, if he wanted it later.

Again, Paz is a smart man, and the meaning behind Din’s last actions became apparent. Leaning in a little bit, his visor fixed on him, and he said, “Tell me what is going on with you. What _exactly_ are your injuries? No—tell me how you were injured and go from there.”

And, so, Din told Paz about all that he could regarding what happened that day on Nevarro.

As Din spoke, Paz remained statue-still listening to all of it. When he got to the part about the E-web canon, that was the first time Paz spoke, chuckling, “You picked that thing up and started mowing down troopers?”

“Guess so.”

Paz tossed back his head, laughing so hard, Din’s gaze skipped over to check the sleeping child.

After a moment, Paz had himself mostly calmed, but his voice ran an octave higher as he asked, “You trying to join the heavy infantry squad, _beroya?”_

Din couldn’t stop the grin that spread behind his helmet as he replied, “That’s a solid no.”

Another wave of laughter rolled through the large Mandalorian beside him. Composing himself with a high-pitched sigh, Paz gestured at him, saying, “Okay, so you were doing your best impersonation of me; continue.”

The corner of Din’s mouth quirked at the man’s humor, and then fell away, as he said, “Then… I caught a shot in the back of the helmet. It was Gideon. I couldn’t get the canon swung around in time. He aimed at the ammo crate, and took the shot.”

Voice soft, Paz asked him, “How close were you to it when it blew?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t guess the proximity of where you were in relation to the ammo crate?”

“Paz,” Din’s voice was quiet as he said, “I remember almost _nothing_ from that day. A little from later on, but everything I just told you was either relayed to me by someone that was there, or I watched it on the cantina’s surveillance footage.”

Nodding with understanding, he asked Din, “How much time did you lose?”

“I…” Din closed his eyes and tried to go back in his mind to the days preceding the battle on Nevarro, “I’ve got some memories of going to Sorgan to recruit a friend—a former rebel shock trooper. Not many, but a few bits from that day.” He paused, “That was about a week before Nevarro.”

Paz blew out a deep exhale, and Din told him, “At first, it was… worse, but after a couple of infusions, I started getting my memories back. Even now. I still get bits and pieces sometimes.” Din looked at his side, where the pram hovered, “I think the kid might be trying to help with that.”

“And what injuries did you sustain?”

“From the explosion?”

“Assuming that ended your fighting for the day.”

“Not… entirely.”

Paz huffed out a breath of disbelief and shook his head, saying, “Just… start with the explosion then.”

“That, I’ve been told, threw me about thirty feet. I had several minor injuries, but the major ones were two broken vertebrae and an open skull fracture.”

“Damn it, Djarin,” Paz gasped. “How did you manage to survive an open skull fracture in the middle of a battle?”

“There was an IG unit turned nurse droid. It had Bacta spray.”

“You let it remove your helmet?”

“I figured it wouldn’t be any different from the surgical droids we used to have on base. It wasn’t a living thing, so…”

“No, you’re right,” Paz nodded. “So, it healed the skull fracture, but you were still able to walk around with two broken vertebrae?”

“At that time, yes.”

“At that time,” Paz repeated slowly. Tilting his helmet, he questioned, “When did that change?”

“That happened after I used the Phoenix to go after Gideon’s Tie Fighter. I put it on, matched his altitude, maxed out the thrusters, and waited for him to circle back around.” This is where Din drew in a deep breath and for braced Paz’s reaction, saying, “When he got close enough, I latched onto his ship with my whipcord.”

_“YOU WHAT?”_

That time Din didn’t need to check the babe to see if he had been disturbed. Paz’s booming voice was loud enough to shake the kid right out of whatever comatose-repairing sleep he drops off to after using his powers. He woke with a shriek, and Din raised up enough to pull him out of the pram with a one-handed grab.

Usually, Paz would have felt awful about startling the child awake, but right then, he was too busy pacing the small room. He ran gloved hands over his helmet, muttering in Mando’a.

Din tucked the child into the space between his arm and side. Talking to him, he rubbed the inside tip of the babe’s ear with his thumb. His foundling looked up at him, and Din told him, “Hey, it’s okay, _ad'ika_. You’re okay.”

The child turned large, frightened eyes over to where Paz was still working through his frustrations.

Standing in the doorway, the man had his back to them as he griped to the darkness of the ship in mostly indistinguishable rumblings, though Din was able to pick out the terms: _shuk’la, jare, and utreekov—_ fractured/broken, foolish risk, and moron.

Watching Paz, his founding whimpered, wedging himself further into Din’s side.

“Hey, Vizla,” Din snapped, placing his palm over the child’s head. Spinning to face him, the Mandalorian’s posture looked ready for battle, and Din told him, “Either calm down or take it out there. The kid is sensitive to strong emotions. You’re scaring him.”

The man in blue armor looked at Din for a beat, and his gaze slipped down to the child. Paz took a few steps toward his bunk, thrust out a hand like he was going to say something, and then turned and retreated to the door. Taking a breath, his hands hooked on his hips, his visor tipped down at the floor, and he just stayed like that for a moment. A bit of time passed, and then Paz’s arms dropped to his sides, and he walked back over to them.

Din’s visor tracked him as he approached. Tone firm, he questioned, “You good?”

Paz’s hands raised in mock surrender. Nodding, he assured, “I’m good.” Resuming his previous spot on the crate, he looked at the child.

Peeking over Din’s arm, the babe made a trilling sound at him.

The Mandalorian’s broad shoulders slumped, and he reached out to touch the child, then froze as he shrank back against his father’s side.

Sighing, Paz spoke to him in a gentle voice, _“Ni ceta, ad’ika.”_

Maybe it was Paz’s tone, perhaps it was the Mando’a the child recognized, whatever it was, it eased his fears, and when Paz reached out again, he didn’t pull away or try to hide.

Stroking along his furrowed little green brow, Paz told him again, _“Ni ceta.”_

Dropping his hand, he turned to face Din and just looked at him. After a moment, he shook his head and sighed, “Din. _What_ —were you _thinking?”_

“That I was all out of options, Paz.”

“You had a fucking—

“Language.”

“—broken back, man.”

“To be fair,” Din raised a defensive palm, “at that time, I didn’t know it was broken. Okay? I was suspicious. It hurt as if it was, but most of me hurt after getting caught in the ammo explosion. But, even if I did know, I still would have made the same choice.” His helmet inclined at Paz, “Roles reversed: you would have also, and don’t try to tell me otherwise.”

“You’re damn lucky you’re arm wasn’t ripped out of its socket, you know that?” Paz shook his head. “You really had no other option?”

“It was the lava flats, Paz. They call it the ‘flats’ for good reason. There was _nothing_ out there to use as cover. Gideon was in a Tie Fighter, and all we had were blasters. We were all dead if I didn’t, including the child.”

Paz pushed back to his feet and paced the room with anxious energy. After a bit, he stopped and looked at Din before stating, “It must have hurt like hell.”

“Yes and no. The initial yank when the whipcord pulled taut, definitely. There was an impressive flash of pain and then nothing. I had lost all feeling below my navel.” Paz just stood there, shaking his head at him, and Din offered, “Good thing I didn’t need my legs to hold onto a strut and set a couple of charges, huh?”

Paz was still shaking his head, then he threw out a hand, asking, “How did you even land?”

“Roughly.”

“Then?”

“Then…” Din drew in a breath, “Then I was brought to the Guild’s medical facility where I ended up having two surgeries—”

“Surgical droid?”

“Yes.”

“You allowed a droid to put you under and work on your back—twice.”

“I could refuse the droid, or I could walk again. The decision wasn’t hard.”

“Put like that, and I guess it wouldn’t be. Even for you.”

Din shrugged, “It wasn’t just about me anymore. The kid has a Moff after him. There was no way I could keep him safe if I didn’t have my legs to stand on.”

Breathing out a long exhale, he walked back over to Din and stood over the pair on the bunk. Paz looked at the kid for a bit and then lowered himself down to sit again.

The child looked at him.

Paz gave him a little wave.

Din’s foundling cooed through a string of spit bubbles and then started to tottle over to him. Walking along the narrow space between Din’s leg and the edge of the bunk, the kid lost his balance and tipped toward the side.

Both Mandalorians shot out a hand to catch him, but the kid grabbed a fistful of Din’s pant leg and righted himself. He continued his trek down the bunk until he reached Paz.

Holding out his hand, Paz asked, “You going to come see me, _ad’ika?”_

Leaning back against the side of Din’s knee, the babe took his time deciding as he looked the large Mandalorian over for a bit. Uncertain, he turned and looked back at his _buir._ Din gave him a nod, and then he looked back at Paz and held up his arms.

Picking him up, Paz tucked the babe into the crook of his arm, looking like he’d done it a thousand times before. It struck Din as odd and also endearing, how someone as massive and lethal as Paz Vizla could be such a natural when it came to kids.

“Tell me about your diagnosis and recovery.”

Paz’s statement brought Din out of his thoughts. His mind was wandering, meaning he was getting worn down. He would need to rest soon. Din almost said as much, but looked at the child, thinking of how he had just woken up, and knew he wouldn't be getting much rest right then anyway.

Tucking an arm behind his helmet, Din answered, “Out of the two fractured vertebrae, one of them turned out to be a burst fracture.”

“What’s that?”

“When the bone shatters completely—most likely what I felt during the stunt with the Tie Fighter. It broke into too many pieces to fix, so they removed the fragments and fitted me with a replacement. The other one was still partially in one piece. Just needed that one to heal.”

“Had it healed completely before today?”

Din knew he was asking because if it hadn’t, they might have a problem after the fight he’d been in earlier.

Looking at Paz, he assured him, “Yes, completely healed. Thanks to numerous Bacta infusions. The problem is, when the other one shattered, pieces of bone shards caused abrasions to my spinal cord. It created a condition called spinal shock. It means my cord is extra finicky for a while as it recovers.  
Coming back from that isn’t a quick turnaround. Things like blunt trauma or overexertion can cause it to flare up. When that happens, I’m down for the count for a while.”

“Like in the alleyway.”

“Yes.”

“And, all those Bacta infusions you received didn’t heal that?”

“They helped. Without them, I would have been looking at a minimum recovery period of eighteen months, and I wouldn’t be walking yet. With the infusions, it’s down to just three more. Plus, those infusions weren’t only focused on my spinal cord. There were other injures that each treatment ended up getting split between. The main one, my head.”

“I thought the IG unit healed that.”

“Partially. It healed the bleeding in my brain and closed the skull fracture, but Paz, I’m _still_ dealing with the fallout from that head injury.”

“In what way?”

Din blew out a breath as he thought, “Headaches, vertigo, my balance sometimes if I stand or turn too quickly—or get hurled into a stone wall.”

“What the hell are you doing out here with a kid, Djarin? You’re a damn mess!”

“Not a lot of options, Vizla. Stay in one place and let them find us or hop planets hoping to stay a step ahead.”

“Don’t tell me you’re collecting bounties in your condition.”

A breath of laughter, “No.”

“What is your source of income then?”

“A friend. She’s partnered up with the Chief of the Bounty Hunter’s Guild.” Din gave Paz a so-so gesture, saying, “He’s kind of a friend, I guess.” He thought about that, then corrected, “It’s more of a long-standing business relationship. He’s giving her his top bounties to collect on until I’m back on my feet. She hunts them and gives me her cut.”

“Awfully generous to set aside his top bounties for you.”

“Yeah, well, he does owe his life to both the kid and me. His great scheme turned into a colossal clusterfu—” Din glanced at the child. “— failure of epic proportions. Between the two of us, his life was saved twice in less than 24 hours.”

“And your friend doesn’t mind putting in the overtime to collect bounties for you?”

Din’s helmet ticked to the side, “She’s a good friend.”

Paz hummed at that, saying, “Din Djarin, accepting help from others. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I hit rock bottom, Paz. I _literally_ have no other option right now.” He looked at the child in Paz’s lap, adding, “Not if I want to keep him safe.” 

They were quiet for a bit.

Din barely felt himself nodding off before his head tilted to the side. Catching himself, he moved the arm he had pillowed beneath his helmet, hoping he’d been subtle enough to pass off the movement as merely readjusting.

When he opened his eyes, the big blue helmet in his face said otherwise.

Holding the child in his arm, Paz laid a hand on his shoulder, stating, “Enough for now. You should rest.”

Din shook his head, “The kid just woke up. I won’t be getting much rest for a few hours. Not until he’s ready to go to sleep for the night.”

“Let me take him awhile then.”

Din looked at Paz. It was tempting. He was exhausted, and it was so very tempting.

“Djarin,” Paz squeezed his shoulder. “I’ve got the kid. Get some rest.”

He looked at his foundling, who was busy gnawing on the edge of Paz’s chest plate and then to the string of drool that ran down the man’s side. The kid seemed comfortable enough with the big guy, and Paz seemed equally pleased to have him in his arms.

Sighing, Din told him, “All right.” He pulled his arm out from behind his head, and then looked up at Paz, cautioning, “Watch him around the controls in the cockpit. I have it on good authority that he tried to take the ship for a joyride on the way to Nevarro.” Yawning, he finished by saying, “Had to swing by and grab a babysitter on the way.”

Paz laughed, “I wish I could have seen that.”

Din closed his eyes. Already drifting off, he grinned, murmuring, “I wish I could remember it.”

**Translations:**

_Beroya—_ bounty hunter

 _Ni ceta, ad’ika—_ I’m sorry, little one (groveling apology)


	4. Well, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has taken a wild left turn on me. It won’t end with this chapter. I don’t know where it will end up, but thanks for sticking along for the ride. I think I can get us to a temporary end in the next chapter and then just do one-shots as follow up adventures. Also, apparently, I can’t get away from the whump, and you’ll find a lot more below. If it’s getting old, no hurt feelings if you want to drop out of this storyline because there be plenty more to come later. It’s kind of the theme. 
> 
> Love you guys, and I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

_A Big huge Thank you goes out to_ POTFFAN _. She helped me past a major block, wrote a portion of the content, and is basically the reason I was able to finish the chapter at all._

* * *

_Disclaimer: I have no idea about speed adjustments within hyperspace. From what I looked up, canon is all over the place on this. So, try not to think too much about it._

* * *

Sitting in the pilot’s seat, Paz held the child in his lap and watched him point to a button on the instrument panel.

“That one?” Paz asked and looked at the child. “That switch brings up the HoloNet.”

Paz pressed it, and the child nodded at the dusty blue projection on the left side of the console. Paz was sure he must have seen his _buir_ using that over the months that they had been on the ship.

Looking around, the babe picked out a lever next.

“That can make the ship go faster or slower. It controls the thrusters. See?” Paz pulled back on the lever, and a low whine came at them from both sides.

He pointed at the two engines outside the clear transparisteel canopy, explaining, “Notice how they go darker? That means our speed is slower. Now, watch—” placing the child’s tiny claw on the lever, his hand settled on top, and he slowly pushed their hands forward. “See?”

They turned in the pilot’s seat, and the child shrieked with amazement at the bright orange glow. Paz looked down, telling him, “You just made us go faster.”

Din’s foundling bounced and clapped in his lap, and he chuckled.

Paz watched the child look all around the cockpit, taking in all of the colors and lights he must have seen a thousand times. The way he was precisely choosing each switch, button, or lever to ask about, gave Paz the idea that Din had already shown him these things—perhaps many times before.

The babe pointed above, at a blue switch on the upper panel. Paz looked at it and hummed in thought, “That one…”

The kid turned and looked at him, “Eh?”

“I’m thinking.” Paz’s brow pulled together as he tried to remember. “Well, I’m not sure. I think it shuts off the cabin lights.” He looked back at the kid, “But I’m not certain.”

The child made a thoughtful sound, and Paz smiled at him from behind his mask, “What do you think, _ad’ika?_ Dare we find out?”

They looked at each other for a tense moment. Visor trained on the kid, Paz slowly raised his pointer finger in the air toward the switch.

The child wore a mischievous grin as he sat and watched, thoroughly captivated as to what was going to happen.

The closer Paz’s finger crept, the wider the kid’s eyes grew to match the grin spreading across his little green face—just like the makings of a true adrenaline junkie.

Din was so screwed.

Stopping a hair's width away, he paused for dramatic effect and then pushed the switch.

Every light went out, and the child let loose with an earsplitting shriek of delight. Illuminated by the swirling vortex of hyperspace, Paz looked down at him and laughed out loud.

Din’s foundling turned in his lap and slapped both hands against his chestplate. Looking up at him with that same trouble-maker grin, his little body shook as he laughed along with him.

Chuckling, Paz asked, “What do you think, _verd’ika?_ Would you like to turn all the lights back on?”

He wasn’t sure how much Basic the child could understand, but when Paz lifted the tiny little thing toward the upper panel, he reached out with his small claw and pushed the right switch.

A kaleidoscope of colors flickered back to life around them, and he cooed happily as Paz pulled him back down to himself. Running a hand over the babe’s head, he smiled as the child leaned to peer around his arm.

Swiveling the seat to the right, he looked at the switches lining the far side of the panel. The kid was oddly vague about the quarry this time, and Paz asked, “Which one were you wondering about?”

The child pointed, and Paz guessed by hovering his finger beside a green switch, “This one?”

Shaking his head, he appeared shy all of a sudden as he pointed a little to the right.

Paz’s finger moved over to one that was unlit, asking, “This one?”

The foundling looked up at him and nodded but looked unsure at the same time.

“That one, I have no clue, little one.” Feeling brave still from remembering the purpose behind all the others so far, he said, “Let’s find out.”

He flipped the switch, and it glowed red as the ship lurched and then began to shudder hard enough to rattle the panels and equipment around him. Lunging forward Paz, flicked it back off.

Sitting back with the kid tucked into his arm, he looked down, saying, “Let’s just leave that one alone.”

The child looked up and gave him an uneasy coo.

Paz went to stroke his ear, but the babe spun around in his arms and started working very hard to get down.

“Okay. Whoa—hey! Hold on before you fall,” Paz cautioned, juggling the kid scrambling round in his grasp in its mission to the floor. It was like trying to handle a feral loth-cat.

Paz barely got his little feet touched to the floor before he was taking off for the sliding doors leading to the cockpit ladder.

The large Mandalorian caught on to what could have alerted the child to such urgency, and then he was out of the pilot’s seat, stepping over the scurrying little green creature, and looking down the ladder well.

“Hey,” he said, dropping to his knee and looked at Din.

Gripping the ladder, the bounty hunter was far enough up that his back pushed against the wall of the well, holding him into position. Helmet bowed, he drew in a breath and then looked up at the two of them, asking, “What the hell is going on up here?”

Feigning innocence, Paz replied with, “Nothing, why?”

The man’s helmet tilted, and somehow the black-out visor of his helm looked exasperated. Din drew in a breath, no doubt about to voice a smart comeback, but then the child whined and reached a little hand out toward him, and Din sighed. Tone softening, he said, “Hey, _ad’ika_.” 

Paz was about to ask if he needed help, but then Din grabbed the next rung up and, hand over hand, he closed the distance to the upper deck. Watching him, Paz could tell he was pulling himself up the ladder more than he was climbing it, but Din seemed to be doing okay, so he just left him to it.

Holding the top rung, Din planted a hand on the floor and hoisted himself up. He seemed to strain a little bit as he pushed off the ladder with his leg, but it was enough to boost himself the rest of the way. Clearing the edge of the well, Din pushed himself back enough to sit on the floor of the top deck.

Paz stood beside him and presented him with the option of a hand-up.

Din looked at the offered hand and then raised his in response, gesturing for Paz to give him a moment. 

The child clambered over the side of his _buir’s_ thigh, and Din shadowed his movements with his hand, making sure he didn’t tumble down the opening.

Paz watched the babe spread his arms wide and fall against Din’s stomach.

Looking down, the bounty hunter’s hand pressed to the babe’s back. His thumb stroked between his tiny shoulders, and his visor tipped up to Paz, “Where are we headed?”

“Pantora. It seemed far enough the other way to be a safe place to head to.”

Din nodded, and Paz asked, “Did we wake you?”

“No. I was already headed this way—Hey! No.” Helmet snapping down to the child, Din told him, “Stop it.”

Paz watched as Din pulled the babe away from his middle. Holding him out at arm’s length, he told the kid, “You keep trying to fix me, _ad’ika_ , and you’ll sleep until you’re fifty-one.”

“Fifty-one?” Paz scoffed. “A little dramatic, no? What is he… two, three?”

Looking at him, Din’s tone was flat as he replied, “He’s fifty.”

“He’s—” Paz started to mock, but the way Din sat there silently staring had him saying, “You’re serious.”

A nod.

“That’s… “ Paz stopped, and then said, “I’ll think about that later.”

Crouching down, Paz gave Din a once-over. He was talking okay, didn’t seem to be breathy like in the alleyway, but something was bothering him. Paz just couldn’t tell if it was his back or some other issue, he had yet to be privy to. Jutting his chin at the man, he asked, “Ready to get off the floor?”

“You don’t have to.” Din looked over his shoulder, probably looking for something to give him leverage, saying, “I can just—”

“Look.” Paz laid a heavy hand on Din’s shoulder, saying, “We’re going to have this talk once, _beroya_.”

Taking a knee, Paz sat back on his heel, saying, “I know it’s difficult to accept help or to admit even that you need it. I’ve been knocked down hard before. Not in the same way, but bad enough that I had to rely on others for a time. You sustained your injuries in battle, Din Djarin. There is no shame needing nor accepting a hand-up from the floor when your body is too wounded to do it on its own.”

Din was quiet, but Paz could see the heavy breaths he was working hard to mask. Paz knew how it could screw with your mind to be injured and weak when your life revolves around fighting, conquering, and just being strong. He squeezed the shoulder under his hand for a moment, and then advised, “Stop thinking about it. Make it easier on your recovery, and just let me help if you need it.”

The kid wiggled between them and then leaned against his _buir_ with a soft coo. It broke the trance Din seemed to be in, and his helmet tipped down at the little green hand that settled on his leg.

Paz watched him cup the back of his foundling’s head and stroke it.

Looking at Din, he asked, “Deal?”

The wounded Mandalorian’s visor raised to meet his, and then he gave him a brisk nod.

It was all Paz needed, and then he clapped him on the shoulder, saying, “Good. Now, come on, and let’s get you up. You do what you can, and I’ll do the rest.”

Like a few hours ago, in Din’s small room, Paz extended a hand, and when Din grabbed it, Paz wrapped his arm around his back. Watching Din drag out one of his legs from the ladder well, Paz’s hand landed on the downed warrior’s side, and he felt one of the firm ridges of Din’s back brace under his shirt. Paz wondered how often he needed to wear it.

Din planted his foot against the steel deck and grunted as he pushed off it while bringing his other foot down to join it. Paz let Din do most of the work, and he was moderately pleased with how things were going. It was clear the man was still weak and needed the support, but thinking back to how he was after being attacked, Paz would gladly take this progress over the former.

Keeping an eye on the kid, Paz watched him clutching the side of his buir’s boot, straining, and clearly trying to help support his father. Din’s stance stumbled once, dragging the kid with him, and Paz chuckled, saying, “Watch out, ad’ika.”

Giving Din a glance, he asked, “You steady?”

Din nodded, “Yeah.”

Taking in his posture, Paz waited just a moment longer before releasing him, and then he bent down and picked up the child.

The kid’s arms reached out for his _buir_ but, Paz just stroked behind his ear and tucked him into the crook of his arm. Holding the child, he shadowed behind Din, watching him as he used the doorway for support and trudged a few heavy steps into the cockpit.

The pilot’s chair still faced the open doorway, and Din half fell; half lowered himself into the seat. It was an odd type of maneuver, but at the same time, it looked well-practiced.

Paz sighed to himself upon realizing that Din’s injuries had forced him to find a workaround for doing something as mundane as sitting down. It gave him another slight insight into how things had been recently for his long-ago friend.

Din’s foundling squirmed in Paz’s arms, wanting to be passed to his father. He paused as Din gripped the armrest, adjusting himself in the seat, and then passed the child over.

~~

Accepting the child, Din’s eyes closed behind his visor. He let the kid play with his hand, manipulating it as he crawled beneath. It was what he did when he wanted to give or receive comfort, and right then, Din knew it would be him on the receiving end.

Eyes closed, Din pulled the child up to his chest and let him burrow between his chin and armor, into the softness of his cloak. He was sure Paz was probably giving him one of his assessment stares, but he really couldn’t care right then. He was too busy pulling in a careful breath as he readjusted in the seat, trying to ease a creeping tightness in his back.

The familiar feeling had started at his site of injury, where he had the surgeries. However, Din knew it didn’t have anything to do with incision marks or even the prosthetic vertebra in his spine. This was a complication from the injury to the spinal cord itself. It was still pissed off over what happened earlier in the day, making his nerves misfire, and all Din could do was try to relax and hope that it would pass.

If it didn’t, he knew it would spread, locking down his muscles just like some of the episodes he had to deal with in the past. Saying it was an unpleasant thing to go through was like saying Banthas were kind of big.

Trying to force the tightness to relax, Din clued into how long he’d been just sitting there holding his foundling and told himself to pull it together. Otherwise, Paz was sure to start asking questions that he wasn’t in the mood to answer. Din’s brow pulled together as the thought occurred to him that Paz might have actually gone back below. It was unlike the big guy to sit and be quiet for more than a minute or two, and Din opened his eyes to check.

Nope.

Din found him leaning against the doorway to the cockpit. Visor turned to the swirling vortex outside, the heavy infantry Mandalorian seemed lost in his thoughts. Looking at the warrior, Din had the odd urge to ask him what he was thinking.

Traveling through the parsecs of space solo for over a decade, Din wasn’t known to be the sharing-is-caring kind of guy. The move felt almost as uncharacteristic as Vizla having a quiet moment, and he decided against the inquiry.

Ignoring the brooding Mandalorian taking up his entryway, Din swung the chair around to look at the Nav console. Keeping his back from twisting in doing so, required a combined effort between pushing off the steel deck with his feet and gripping the side dash. The chair rotated smoothly, and the movement caused him only a minimal amount of discomfort.

Din’s _ad_ slid down his breastplate with a trilling sound, landing on his back into his lap. Grabbing his feet, the little green babe looked up at him and laughed. Din glanced down at the kid as he brought up the Nav and shaking his head, he muttered, “Womp rat.”

The familiar nickname made the babe squeal, and Din grinned. Jabbing him with a gloved finger, the Mandalorian nudged the tip under the kid’s arm and tickled him. The child’s laughter turned into a shrill scream, and he latched onto Din’s finger, pretending to bite him— _whoa, okay. Not pretending._

“Hey.” Din scolded, pulling his finger back, telling him, “No biting, _ad’ika_.”

“Your foundling has quite a set of lungs on him.”

Din started to glance over his shoulder, but the pull in his back the movement caused changed his mind for him. The tightness wasn’t going away, and he considered excusing himself to go lay down, but he needed to double-check the coordinates Paz had them pointed toward. He also needed to compare the distance to their fuel levels and a couple of other things before he turned the cockpit back over to the big blue Mandalorian.

Replying to Paz, Din nodded, saying, “That he does.”

He heard Paz push off the entryway and walk up beside him. Looking over Din’s shoulder, he sounded slightly offended as he asked, “Checking up on me, Djarin?”

“No,” Din stated simply. “Just being responsible.”

“What, and I’m not?”

Din sighed and had the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose as he kept his patience. “I didn’t say that, Paz.”

He got a grumbled huff and, pushing off the console, Din spun around to face him, “When was the last time you flew something?” Paz drew in a breath, and Din slipped in, “Something that _wasn’t_ the Phoenix.”

Paz released the breath in a short burst. His posture was one of defeat, and Din gave him a nod, “I don’t doubt you have things figured out up here, but it would be irresponsible of _me_ to not double-check since you’re a little rusty at the controls. That’s all.”

Paz didn’t respond, but from growing up with the guy, and the years of friendship they shared after reciting the _Resol'nare,_ Din knew he got it.

Spinning back around, the tightness in his back crept a little higher up his spine, and he couldn’t restrain the soft grunt the pain of it had pushed out. Closing his eyes, Din rolled his head, trying to relax the muscles below his shoulders that pulled and burned as they threatened to lock up.

“Hey,” Paz was using his ‘listen up’ voice.

“Hm.”

“You’d better not be pushing your limits by being up here, instead of resting down below.”

The child in his lap cooed at Din, and he was sure if his foundling started acting concerned, he would completely blow his cover. Running a hand over the babe’s ear, he decided against shaking his head and just told Paz, “I’m almost done.”

Din’s reply wasn’t an admission that he was hurting, but it wasn’t a denial either. He expected Paz to start bitching at him over being a stubborn fool, or maybe even pull him out of the chair to usher him back to his bunk like when they’d first boarded the ship.

However, as Din sat there, eyes closed and breathing in a way Paz could have no doubts about if he was hurting, all his travel companion did was land a hand on his shoulder, asking him the same question from back in the alley.

“What do you need?”

Opening his eyes, Din swallowed down a groan and pointed at a switch, “The blue one.”

Paz reached out, and Din adjusted carefully in his seat, wincing, “No, two over to the right. Press it.”

The switch was only a couple of feet in front of him, but as brittle as Din was feeling, he didn’t dare reach for it. There was a blip from the Nav, and, remaining as still as possible, Din glanced over and confirmed they had enough fuel for the trip.

Sweat had broken out along Din’s brow, and his hand curled into a fist against the spreading discomfort. The child’s ears drooped in concern as he mewled up at him, and then he was trying to climb up his chest armor. His little claws couldn’t find purchase, and he slid back down into his lap. Frustrated, he grabbed Din’s sleeve and started clambering up his arm.

The kid was small but determined, and his quick movements jostled him enough that Din sucked in a hiss. “Paz,” he grunted, “ _Take the kid.”_

A couple of beads of sweat trickled down the back of his neck as his foundling’s weight disappeared from his arm. Din breathed out a fractured breath and took another moment to reconsider their destination. The way things were progressing for him right then, he knew he was about to be in trouble. It had been a month at least since the last time he had to deal with any spasticity. Maybe that ambush had screwed with his damaged spinal cord more than he had thought. If that was what is going on with his back right then, Din knew he should probably redirect their flight to Nevarro and get checked out.

He was about to tell Paz to bring it up on the Nav, but then the stiffness that had invaded the muscles running along his spine, branched out and wrapped around to his chest, and Din knew right then that he was screwed.

“Din.”

He figured he must have made a noise or flinched or something, because even with his eyes closed, he could tell that Paz was leaning over him, encroaching on his personal space.

He tried to answer, but the feeling of his chest muscles locking down on him spread down his arms and up to his throat. That time he was positive he had jerked at the sudden contraction, and at that point, he didn’t give a damn about the strangled groan that slipped past his helmet.

Din felt impossibly stiff from his middle back to halfway up his neck. He had almost no control with his muscles locked down like they were and pressing his head back into the headrest he breathed out a few fast pants and then groaned in both pain and frustration. 

“Hey, easy.” Paz’s hand landed on Din’s shoulder, but the squeezing grip intended to be a gesture of comfort had the exact opposite effect on him, and Din slammed his fist down against the armrest.

Paz’s hand disappeared, and then he was talking to the kid as he walked behind his chair. Din heard him placing him in his carrier in the copilot’s seat. Coming back to stand next to him, Paz asked, “What’s going on with you?”

Din remained silent. It wasn’t by choice.

“Din? Are you not going to say anything to me now?”

Paz slowly turned his seat around, and Din had to concentrate much too hard just to be able to force out, _“Can’t,”_

“What?”

“Paz—floor,” he choked on a gasp.

“Let me just—”

 _“No,”_ Din ground out as his chest hitched. It _hurt_ , as it trapped his breath, and then exhaled it sharply. “Brace...” his throat constricted again and chopped off the rest of his words.

By some miracle, Paz figured it out. Touching his side, he asked, “You need the back brace off?”

Din managed a fraction of a nod. He was already trying to grab at the material of his shirt, tugging it out from behind his waistband and getting absolutely nowhere with it, when Paz hesitated, “Are you sure you should?”

“Have—” his throat locked down again, and Din growled at the frustration of it.

“Easy, Din. Don’t force it.”

Taking a couple of breaths, Din swallowed, and then again, before he could manage, “It’s best to...” he tried to explain, gesturing weakly at himself, adding, “With this...” As if that would explain everything.

It would have to. It was the best he could manage.

Paz stared into his visor, slowly confirming, “You have to when this happens.”

Din sighed in relief, “Yes.”

“Okay, we’re going to get you lying flat, first, and we’ll go from there.”

Gently he helped Din move slowly from his seat, trying to keep support on his spine until he was lying flat on the steel floor of the cockpit. Din started tugging at his shirt again as Paz removed his armor plates and then worked on the buttons on his shirt. By the time Paz finished, Din had managed only a small bit, and he was trembling from fighting against the muscles that refused to cooperate.

His hand was moved away, and Paz said, “I got it, _beroya_.”

If he wasn’t so busy dealing with the pain and trying to breathe, needing Paz Vizla to help him with his shirt might have been a humiliating experience. Thankfully, at that moment, Din was feeling much too miserable to care.

“Gonna sit you up some so I can pull it out,” Paz spoke softly, and by some small mercy, didn’t bawl Din out when he moved, doing what he could to sit up on his own. Even so, Paz still had to take him behind the shoulders and pull him forward.

Din felt the brace slip past his sides, and he started to lay back as Paz said, “Hold on, I want to check something. Can you tolerate this position a moment longer?”

Din managed a nod and let his head fall forward.

Paz pulled off a glove, and then he started palpitating the muscles around his spine. “Try to relax,” he instructed as he continued to feel the rigid tissues in Din’s back and shoulders.

 _“Trying,”_ Din practically stuttered while fighting past the muscles constricting his throat.

He was laid down to the floor, and Paz peeled his shirt back, carefully touching the straining muscles in his chest, and then his fingers slipped beneath his cowl to land on his neck.

“You’ve got some pretty serious muscle spasms going on,” Paz told him what he already knew as he sat back on his heel again, looking at Din as he thought. Then he was standing up, saying, “Stay here for a minute.”

The command managed to make Din chuckle in disbelief because he hadn’t been able to move enough to untuck his damn shirt, so where the hell did Paz see him running off to right then?

The large Mandalorian returned in a few minutes, carrying the pillow and blanket from Din’s bunk. Kneeling beside him again, Paz fussed over him for a moment, trying to make him more comfortable.

Pulling the blanket up, he asked, “Have you been sleeping?”

He felt like every muscle in his chest and back was coiled so tightly he could barely breathe. Answering with a rasp, Din confessed, _“Not enough.”_

“Okay. Just rest for a bit. We’ll figure this out,” Paz reassured.

Din focused on getting his muscles to relax. He focused on taking measured breaths and tried very hard not to focus on how much it always scared the crap out of him when an episode like this would crop up.

This, what he was going through right now, it made him mad.

He’d been doing so well, and then one run-in with a bunch of assholes managed to set him back far enough in his recovery that Din knew he’d be dealing with another few incidents like this as his recovery got back on track again.

At least this time, he wasn’t going through it alone.

As much as the Mandalorian beside him drove him crazy, having Paz there was an unexplainable relief. It meant that Din wouldn’t have to force himself to allow the kid to help him by taking the edge off like he had to in the past.

Din hated it every time, but not being able to move when you have a toddler under your care, it just wasn’t an option. Having Paz there for backup, Din didn’t have to deal with the guilt of letting his foundling wear himself out just to help him.

He could now just lie there and ride it out. It would suck—a lot—but it was better than drawing from the kid. Practically anything was better than that.

He shouldn’t even be out here alone with the kid, and he knew it. If he had any other choice that could give them the same kind of distance from the ones hunting them down, he would jump at the opportunity. As ridiculous as it seemed, this plan gave them their best chance of survival.

Din heard his kid’s pattering feet and realized Paz had taken him back out of his carrier. Knowing the babe was making a beeline for him, Din grimaced through the strain and moved his arm away from his side, opening a spot for the child to burrow in beside him. It’s what he did every time Din was dealing with something like this. He was sure the kid could feel his pain, and pressing in close to his side was the child’s way of giving him comfort.

Sure enough, Din could feel his foundling pawing at his side and pressing as far into his shoulder as he could get. The slight movement was uncomfortable enough to make him grunt, but then the kid got settled, and Din brought his arm back to his side, trapping the kid against himself.

Opening his eyes, Din found Paz on a knee leaning directly over him. Din moved to look at him, and Paz asked, “Where have you received the majority of your medical care, Navarro?”

The stiffness in his throat was backing off, but he still had to work past the sensation by swallowing a few times before he could spit out, “Yes.”

“Okay, do you have medicine? Pain killers, muscle relaxers?”

Another harsh wave of tightness flared up his back, and Din’s hand curled into another one of those weak fists, and he slammed it against the steel deck with a pitiful lack of force.

Waiting patiently for the answer to his question, Paz’s hand came down over Din’s knee. He must have been watching his respirations, because then he was commanding, “Quit holding your breath. Breathe through it, _beroya_.”

After another moment, Din relaxed enough to communicate, and Paz asked again, “Pain medicine, muscle relaxers?”

Din answered with a breathy, “Yes.”

“Are you taking them?”

“Not… not for a while.”

Paz grunted, “Now we’re getting somewhere.” Looking down at Din, he demanded, “Why not.”

“Can’t.”

The child started climbing onto Din’s chest, and Paz pulled him off, settling him back by his side. Again, Paz demanded, “Why not.”

Din managed to tilt his visor up toward him, saying, “They make me tired, groggy.” He shook his head out of habit and was relieved when it didn’t hurt as it had just a few minutes ago. Looking at Paz, he stressed, “I can’t protect him like that.”

Paz understood. Din knew he did. He knew it made him crazy mad, but Din knew he understood what he was saying. 

Looking at him, Paz declared, “Well, you’re taking them now. Where are they?”

Din told him, and then Paz disappeared. He reappeared a moment later with the med packs in his large gloved hand. He dropped down beside him again and then started pulling out dosage syringes and an alcohol swab.

“I’m going to inject them into your side,” was all Paz said, and then Din felt the cool of the alcohol as it evaporated from his skin. Next, a pinch from the needle, and then another— _or was that three?_ A thought sparked in his mind that he should have asked Paz if he knew what he was doing, but the pain medicine kicked in swiftly followed up by the muscle relaxer, and Din found relief.

After that, he decided he really didn’t care.

The blanket got pulled up to his chest, and with a touch uncharacteristically gentle for the large man, Paz’s hand landed over his shoulder. “I’m changing course to Nevarro. You need to get checked out, and I need to hear first-hand what it’s going to take to get you back on your feet.”

It was the right decision. He had already chosen to change their course before his body had betrayed him. And, even though Din knew this setback wasn’t his fault, as he watched Paz stand up and walk over to the Nav console, he couldn’t keep the moan from his voice as he told Paz, “Cara is going to kill me.”

Leaning over the screen, Paz put in the new coordinates, telling him, “Shut up, Djarin, and get some rest. Otherwise, I might just let her.”


	5. We Have to Stop Meeting Like This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! The final chapter in the You're Not In This Alone series. I will be adding standalone chapters about different events in this AU, but not for a while. First, I need to wrap up a couple of other projects in progress. I cannot thank you all enough for your kindness, your amazing reviews, all the gobs of kudos and bookmarks and for just being the best damn fandom out there. 
> 
> A special thanks go out to Potffan. This story would never have turned out as well as it has without your help. <3
> 
> Pace yourselves, it's a LONG chapter. I hope you like it!

* * *

“You did good, kid. Almost cut your time in half from your last hunt.” Greef told Cara as he pushed a pile of credits her way. “Better be careful; any faster and you’ll be in danger of tying with Mando’s average time.”

Cara sipped her spotchka and grinned, “Even if I did, you’d just have to up my rates, which would benefit him and the kid.” Grabbing the credits, she told Karga, “Don’t think he’d care.”

Greef laughed and picked up his drink, “Probably right.” He took a sip, wincing as he swallowed. “How are those two doing anyway?”

Cara shrugged, “Pretty much the same as the last time you asked, Karga.”

“Oh, I know I probably bug you for details too much.” He started to take another drink, “I guess I’m just anxious to see my best bounty hunter patched up and back in the saddle.”

Cara looked into her glass. Swirling the last bit of her drink around, she said, “Me too. Just going to have to be patient. Din’s getting over some pretty serious injuries.” She knocked back the last of her drink, stating, “It’s going to take some time.”

Karga’s brows lifted as he drew in a deep sigh. Looking into his drink, he said, “Yeah,” and took a sip.

A light on Cara’s vambrace flashed. Looking down, she muttered, “Huh. Speaking of which.” She looked a little closer.

“Mando?” Karga asked and leaned forward, looking across the table.

“Yeah,” she nodded, but her brow furrowed.

Karga’s expression morphed to match hers as he asked, “Something the matter?”

Looking up, she saw the worry etched onto her partner’s features and smiled, telling him, “I doubt it. It’s just a live message.”

“Live?” Karga sat back, frowning still. “That is odd. Well,” he chuckled, “it’s odd as far as our friend’s habits go.”

Cara smiled, trying to project ease onto the man. Greef Karga might be a pain in the ass, but he had a big heart when it came to their little ragtag crew of four—especially when it came to the kid. Getting to her feet, she touched his shoulder, “Don’t get yourself all in a fret, Karga. It’s out of the norm, but not the first time he reached out with a live message. The kid is probably just bored and driving him nuts.”

Walking past the table, Cara enabled the audio and spoke against her bracer, “Hold on. Let me get to Karga’s office.” Dropping her arm, she didn’t listen for a reply. Din would know she’d never hear him while she was on the floor of the cantina.

Pushing past a group of four hunters taking up space by the bar, someone called out to her. She didn’t even turn to look, just raised a hand, and yelled over her shoulder, “Take it up with Greef!”

“But—”

“Busy!” she shouted and then closed the office door behind herself.

Taking a seat behind the desk, Cara smiled as she heard the kid’s happy trilling noises rising from her bracer. Pulling up the chain code, she loaded it into the Holocomm on the desk and opened it.

“Din, hey!” she said as the image flickered, and then she did a double-take, demanding, “Who the hell are you?” She glanced at the child sitting in the strange Mandalorian’s lap. The kid was clapping and waving at her, and a freaking rock dropped straight into her gut.

Looking at her, the strange Mandalorian gave her a slight bow, stating, “I was told to contact Cara Dune and tell her I am bringing Din Djarin in for medical treatment.”

The rock in her gut ballooned into a boulder. She swallowed, demanding, “I’m Cara. What’s wrong?”

“He has suffered a setback today and needs to be checked out by a medic.”

“Setback,” Cara growled. “What kind of setback? What happened?”

The Mandalorian paused. His helm tilted, “Which question would you like answered first?”

Cara blinked, and she leaned forward, asking, “Is he okay?”

“I… don’t know.”

Cara ground her teeth. Getting information from this guy was like wrestling with a drunk loth cat. Leaning closer, she demanded. “Where is he?”

“Right here.”

She wanted to reach through the holocomm and—

 _“Where?”_ She stressed.

“Here.” The Mandalorian replied. “On the floor of the cockpit.”

Her face pinched in disbelief, “He’s on the _floor?”_

“Yes.”

Her features pinched even more, and she thrust out a hand, “What the hell is he doing on the _floor?”_

Paz looked down and then back at the comm, “At the moment, sleeping.”

Closing her eyes, she pressed her fingers to her temple, “Let me try that again— _why_ is Din on the floor of the cockpit?”

“He was suffering from severe muscle spasms—” Cara cursed, slumping back in the chair “—It was the only position that helped.”

She propped her chin on a fist and stared at the comm for a few seconds before asking, “What happened?”

Din’s kid got impatient at being ignored and growled at her. Her gaze switched to the little green monster, and Cara grinned at him, “Hey, squirt.”

The child gave her a toothy grin and waved to her with both hands. She gave him a goofy face and wiggled her fingers at him as Paz answered her question, “That story is not for me to tell. You’ll have to ask Djarin yourself about the cause.”

“Well, you gotta give me something.” Leaning forward again, she told the Mandalorian, “The Medbay is going to want to know what they’re up against so they can get prepared.”

The kid whined and tapped on the Mandalorian’s arm. Cara watched the guy look at the kid, and then he leaned over in the chair and set him on the floor. Sitting back in Din’s pilot seat, the guy looked at her for a beat, then said, “Din has a spinal cord injury. Correct?”

Cara glared at his image, “Yes.”

He gave a single nod, “Start there.”

“Shit.” She rubbed a hand over her face as she thought. Staring back at the unfamiliar helmet, she gathered up the courage to ask, “Can he walk?”

“At first, no. But after about ten minutes, barely. He administrated one Bacta infusion. After that, he was able to move on his own, but not far. ”

Her eyes fell closed at hearing the state of her friend. Din’s had it so hard lately, but he was finally starting to make some good progress, and then this. It made her heart hurt for him. Taking a breath, she asked, “Anything else?”

The guy looked toward the floor. He seemed to be deciding, then he faced her again, adding, “He told me he was also recovering from significant trauma to his head.”

Cara bit the inside of her cheek and nodded.

“Might want to make sure that’s not any worse.”

Shaking her head, Cara implored, “What the hell happened?”

“Again. Not my story to tell.”

Cara rubbed her hand across her brow and nodded. She walked right into that one. “All right,” She looked at the warrior again, “How far out are you guys?”

The Mandalorian looked to his right and reached out to press something. Turning back to her, he said, “Just under three hours.”

She nodded again and sat up in her seat, saying, “All right. We’ll be ready.” Pulling up the current stats on available hangers at the Guild’s Medbay, she told him, “When you come in, land in hanger 12-B.”

“12-B. Got it.”

Cara further supplied, “It’s got underground tunnel access to the ‘bay. A more private transport route than the others.” She told him, knowing how Mandalorians were about public displays of weakness.

The helmet nodded, approving of her line of thinking, and she typed the info into the Medbay’s arrivals queue. Looking at the blue image of the mystery soldier, she said, “Just get him here. We’ll be ready.”

The man gave her another nod and leaned forward to end the call, and Cara snapped, “Hey!”

He stopped and turned toward her.

Leaning forward in her seat, Cara jabbed a finger toward the man, ordering, “You take good care of my friend on the way.”

They held eye contact for a moment, and then his tone softened the slightest as he replied, “Will do.”

~~

It was dark outside when Cara got notice that the _Crest_ had hailed the flight tower saying they were close to arrival. After finding out they were only about twenty minutes out, Cara gave Greef the update and then headed straight for the Medbay. She wanted to make sure her staff was ready and waiting.

Like any respectable trauma center, the Guild’s medical facility on Nevarro operated on a worst-case seen first kind of patient line up. The most critical always topped the waiting list, and then it trickled down from there. The injuries Din was coming in with might not place him right at the top of the list— _this time_ , thank the stars—and, if Cara wanted him seen immediately, she knew they would have to do a little finagling.

So, that is exactly what they had done.

One of the perks of being a partner to the guy who staffs and funds the medical center is being able to pull together your own trauma team when your friend needs to pop in for an impromptu work up.

Even if it meant yanking Din’s medic out of his current rotation and reassigning him for however long Cara needed. Or, if it meant that medic got to pick the rest of his crew and call them in, even if it was their day off. Or, maybe, tracking down the only droid Din seemed to tolerate and have it relocated from a different department and put on standby. It was there in case they needed it, and Cara _really_ hoped they wouldn’t. Regardless, it was on-site and ready to go to work.

So, yeah, Karga can be a handful at times, but she had to hand it to the guy, he knew how to throw around his weight and get stuff done.

Satisfied that everything was set to her liking, Cara grabbed a hover gurney and Din’s medic. Together, they walked the tunnel to the hanger. The gurney tethered to the medic followed behind them with a soft hum as she relayed what she knew, which wasn’t a whole hell of a lot.

Lant looked at her, asking, “When did the complication happen?”

Cara glanced over, “Earlier today. More than five hours ago. That’s all I know.”

Looking at his datapad, he touched the screen a few times as they walked, “No idea what caused it?”

“Nope.”

Lant shook his head, saying, “Freaking Mandalorians.”

Cara blew out a breath in agreement. She respected their creed, and she knew Lant did also, it just became frustrating when their customs caused the withholding of vital information that would be helpful to have them more prepared right now.

That last thought had her looking over, “I’m sure if there were a life-threatening issue, like a gaping gut wound, the guy with Din would have told me.”

Lant grunted in reply. Continuing to scroll through her notes, he read aloud, “Fucked-up mobility?” He looked over, “The hell does that mean?”

“The Mandalorian with him told me that, right after whatever had happened, Din had none.” Lant stared at her, and she said, “He couldn’t move his legs for almost ten minutes.”

_“Fuck.”_

“After he could move, it took a Bacta infusion before he could walk without support, but not far.”

Lant growled in frustration as he went back to the report. The glow of the pad illuminated off his face, making the tips of his blonde hair appear green as he added his own notes. Shaking his head, he talked as he touched the screen, “I know I keep saying it, but Cara, so help me, I’m going to end up tying the guy down until he’s healed. I might actually do it this time.”

She looked over, agreeing, “I might help you.”

Lant smirked, “All right.” He swiped past a couple of different screens and asked, “Anything else on the back injury?”

The incoming rumble of the _Crest’s_ twin thrusters started to echo through the tunnel as they neared the opening. Cara upped her pace and told him, “The other guy reported Din had severe muscle spasms.”

Looking over, Lant spoke louder, “Spasms, or are we talking spasticity?”

Cara shook her head, shouting, “Not sure. From what I could gauge, it had been bad. When we talked, he had to get Din on the floor of the cockpit, and he must not have wanted to be moved because he was still there, asleep, later during our call. The other Mando also said we might want to check out Din’s head.”

 _“Fuuuuck.”_ Lant’s finger jabbed at the pad’s screen as he updated a note, and said, “Tell me again why Din won’t rest in one place like any other being recovering from an injury as susceptible to setbacks, as his?”

Cara smirked and looked over. Talking over the noise, she said, “You know I can’t.”

A wind kicked up, swirling through the tunnel as it pushed against them. Lant shot her a side glance, yelling over the noise, “You’re not much better at the details than the freaking Mandalorians.”

She laughed and then stepped through the opening to the hanger.

Shielding her eyes, Cara squinted through the dust as the _Razor Crest_ hovered above them. Watching it approach, if she didn’t know someone else was flying the ship, she would have thought Din was either injured or drunk with the way it wobbled in the air as it lined up with the tall hanger walls.

Like he read her mind, Lant leaned over and yelled, “Is the guy flying also injured?”

Cara shook her head, “Didn’t seem like it.”

They watched the landing gear touch down, bounce up and skip forward, and then plant itself to the floor of the hanger. The engines whined as they powered down, and Cara spoke over the noise, saying, “Let me go in first. Check the situation and get a read on this new Mando.”

Lant watched the ramp lower and told her, “I’ll give you three minutes. Got your comm?”

“Yeah.”

She took a step, and then the medic’s hand grabbed her arm, stopping her. Looking back, he got up close and poked her shoulder, ordering, “You call me in before you even _think_ about letting him move.”

Cara looked at his finger and gave him a look. If it hadn’t been for the guy being there with them, walking them through a bit of hell since day one, she might have broken his damn hand for having the nerve to touch her like that. But, in her book, Lant had earned an honorary membership into their tight group of four.

She knew he was a good fit when her warning look did not affect him at all.

Glaring at her, he said, “I’m serious, Cara. You go in and get the weird-ass situation figured out, but Din doesn’t move an inch until I get up there and do a scan.” Then, he had the nerve to jab her shoulder again for effect.

Her reputation wasn’t a secret; dude had balls.

Pushing his hand away, Cara scoffed, “You think I’m stupid or something?”

He gave her a stern look and took a step back.

Smiling, Cara smacked his arm, throwing a grin as she turned and boarded Din’s ship.

~~

The lights in the cargo bay were on, but it was empty as she walked through. “Mando?” Cara called, announcing her presence.

“Up here,” came a new modulated voice from the upper deck.

Climbing the ladder, Cara stepped onto the deck and went to the cockpit. She walked through the open doorway, and a wall of big blue Mandalorian rose from the pilot’s chair. Cara spared him a glance and a slight bow of recognition. The kid whined from the floor, and she shifted her gaze to find the babe curled up beside her laid out friend.

Going to them, Cara smiled at the child, “Hey, kiddo.”

Din’s foundling held his arms up for her, and she pulled him into her embrace as she kneeled on the floor beside his father.

Din hasn’t so much as twitched since she walked in. Looking him over real quick, she touched his shoulder and called to him softly. He didn’t respond, and Cara peeled the blanket back a little bit. She finds his cowl is missing, and his shirt unbuttoned. Giving his neck a gentle pinch, she tried again, “Din.”

That got a flinch of a response. His head rocked her way before it stopped, and then he became still again. She looked up at big blue, asking, “How long has he been asleep?”

“About four hours.”

Her eyes opened wide, and her voice raised a couple of decimals, “He’s been lying on the steel deck for four hours?”

“Around that, yes.”

Cara narrowed her stare, “Who are you again?”

Big blue’s visor dipped toward Din before fixing on her, telling her that Din had vetted her, and it was the only reason he was bothering to reply. Squaring his shoulders, his deep voice said, “Paz Vizla, of Clan Vizla.”

 _“Paz Vizla,”_ Din’s low voice echoed from the floor, and her gaze snapped back down to him. 

“Din?” She touched his arm, “Hey, guy. You with me now?”

His visor turned toward her, and then he sounded _way_ too happy as he greeted her, “Cara, hey!”

Din’s hand rose to touch her arm, and an amused grin spread over her face, “Hey, buddy.”

He pointed to big blue, “That’s Paz.”

She nodded, “We’ve met.”

Din’s hand dropped down to his stomach, “Good.”

He sounded like he was talking in his sleep. Her brow pulled together, “Hey, Din?”

“Hmm.”

“You take some medicine?”

“Paz did.”

She blinked at him. “Paz… Okay, Paz gave you some?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what he gave you?” Paz started to answer, and she held up a hand, stopping him. She wanted to find out what her friend was aware of.

Ignoring the huff of annoyance her dismissive gesture pulled from the wall of armor next to them, Cara rubbed the arm under her touch, asking, “Din?”

“Hmm.”

“Do you know what medicine you got?”

His helmet rolled against the floor, and his visor fixed on her for a long beat before he lifted a gloved hand and gestured at absolutely nothing, “Yeah. The, um, those packs—things. You know, that stuff.”

Cara’s eyes flicked up to the other Mandalorian, demanding, “How much did you give him?”

“Why?”

She scoffed, “Because, he’s fucking stoned!”

“Language, Dune,” Din warned and touched her arm where his kid was peeking over.

Cara ignored the comment from below, telling the armored giant, “Show me what you gave him.”

 _“—Cara. Times up.”_ Lant’s voice sounded in her ear as Paz was reaching for something on the dash.

Touching her earpiece, she said, “Come on up.”

Accepting the med packs, she told the blue guy, “Medic’s coming on board.”

Paz nodded, and Cara looked at the packs. Her eyes did a quick read on each one as she shuffled through the stack of three, asking, “So, which did you give him?”

Din answered for him, saying, “Yes.”

Cara’s hand touched his shoulder as she realized what he was telling her, and then her eyes were skipping back to Big Blue, and she balked, “You dosed him with all _three_?”

Lant stepped through carrying his medkit, eyed the standing Mandalorian, and gave him a wide berth as he knelt at Din’s other side.

Paz replied to Cara, saying, “They are three different types of medications. They shouldn’t have reacted with each other.”

Swinging her gaze of disbelief down to Lant, she nodded toward Din, “He’s _fucking_ _stoned._ ”

_“Dune.”_

Cara’s hand landed on the kid’s head at his _buir’s_ growl, saying, “Sorry, kid.”

Lant held out his hand, “Let me see those.”

The medic’s voice had Din’s helmet moving toward him, and his visor fixed on the man. He didn’t say anything, and Lant gave him a side glance as he flipped through the medications, “Hi, Din.”

“Hey.”

“How’s it going, man?”

“Been better.”

Lant nodded.

“Been worse, too.”

Looking down at the injured warrior, Lant patted his arm and smiled. He glanced past his eyebrows at Cara. They shared a knowing look: Din gets chatty when he’s medicated to the gills.

Handing the packs to Paz, Lant said, “He’s okay. Usually, I suggest alternating the muscle relaxer and the anticonvulsant, but he’ll be okay.”

The child held out his arms to the Mandalorian as he reached for the meds. Taking him from Cara, Paz told her, “He _needed_ all three.”

They held a look for a moment, and then Lant’s scanner powered up with a high-pitched whine, and she looked back at the two men on the floor with her.

Cara watched as the medic pulled back the blanket covering their friend, asking, “Want to fill me in, Din? Tell me what happened?”

“It’s been a bad day,” Din groused, shifting against the floor. Then, in utter disregard for his language rule regarding the child, he followed up by saying, “People are assholes.”

The medic’s hand pushed against Din’s leg, telling him, “Stay still for me.” He stopped moving, and Lant looked at him, “Tell me about this bad day.”

Din sighed as the medic moved the scanner over his body, telling him, “I got run into by some people I used to know.”

Cara frowned, “You mean you ran into some people you used to know?”

“No,” Blue interjected. “He got it right the first time.”

Lant looked into Din’s visor, “You got attacked?”

The Mandalorian on the floor gave him a half-shrug, “Something like that.”

Cara looked up at Paz, and he gave her a nod, confirming, “Something like that.”

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, taking a second to pack away the rage burning up her neck. Now wasn’t the time. Later she would find out who did this, and then she would destroy them.

A fist thumped her on the thigh. Cara opened her eyes and found Din looking at her. She breathed out a short exhale and then smiled at him as her hand landed on top of his. Din’s fist cracked open, and she slipped her fingers into his grip and squeezed.

“Okay,” Lant looked down at Din as he packed away his tool. “Scan shows obvious signs of swelling around your spine at the location of your initial injury. Replacement vertebra looks good, so does the one that had the fracture.” He sat back on his heels, saying, “I’m inclined to let you get up and walk as far as the gurney that I have parked in the cargo hold. But then you’re off your feet until I can run some more imaging tests.”

He stopped, giving Din a look. Based on their history, Cara wasn’t surprised when the medic leaned in, saying, “If you’re gonna be a pain in my ass and fight me on that, let’s have it out now and get it over with.”

Medic and Mandalorian held a silent stare down for a few seconds before Din sighed, and Lant grinned. Patting Din’s shoulder, he told him, “Good man. Tell me about your head.”

“Got knocked around a little, but it’s okay now.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, but I can walk.”

“Are you _sure_ , Din, because I can’t do a scan with your helmet on. I’m trusting you to be upfront and honest with me until I get you into the Medbay and can get some imaging done in there.”

“It’s not too bad. I can make the short walk through the cargo hold.”

Lant gave Din one of his hard looks and then said, “Okay. Before you get up, I want to test your mobility real quick.” He pulled the blanket off Din completely and passed it back to Paz, telling Din, “Draw your right knee back for me.”

Cara figured Din had enough of an audience and resisted the urge to look down and watch him move his legs. Instead, she made a face at the child swallowed up by the large Mandalorian’s arm. The babe made a happy noise and grinned, waving his arms at her. Smiling back, she used her free hand and wiggled her fingers at him.

“Good job,” Lant told Din, and he reached out to guide his leg back down to the floor. “Now the left.”

There was a pause, and then Din made a sound like he was straining. The grip around her fingers became tight, and that time, she did look down, squeezing Din’s hand as he struggled to drag his foot back against the floor and bend his leg.

He got about halfway there before Lant stopped him, “Okay, man. That’s good enough. You can stop.”

Din released a burst of air, and his chest heaved a couple of times.

Before his weakened movement could get taken too far, Cara reached over Din and touched the medic’s arm, telling him, “There is also the fact that Din has been laying on this floor for over four hours.”

Lant’s eyes widened and skipped down to Din, “You have?”

“Guess so.”

“That…” Lant nodded, looking down toward Din’s legs, “That could explain a lot, actually. Without even a little padding between you and the steel deck, your circulation is probably a little bit compromised.”

Cara noticed Paz adjust his stance behind Lant, and she suddenly felt for the big guy. Clearly, he was concerned. _Clearly_ , he had done the best he could, and now probably thought he’d done something wrong, or that his care may have made Din’s condition even worse. Her heart went out to him, and she gave him a little smile.

“All right, Din,” Lant’s voice brought her attention back down as he asked, “Ready to sit up?”

“Yes.” His answer was breathy and very final.

The medic grinned, “Okay. You’ve been laying prone for a long time, so let’s take it slow.” He offered his hand, and Din looked at it, then his gloved hand reached out and took it.

Cara felt Din pull against the grip on her hand, and she tensed her arm, giving him the leverage he needed to sit up. The medic did the same. His other hand slipped behind Din’s shoulder, supporting and guiding him forward.

They got him sitting up, and Lant leaned in to look at Din, “How’s that feel?”

The Mandalorian hung his head a little, “A lot better than the last time I tried to sit up.”

Lant let go of his hand, “When was that?”

Din glanced at the medic, “Few hours ago.”

Lant dug around in his kit, asking, “Before the meds?”

There was a pause like Din realized he’d been caught, then, “Yes.”

Lant just hummed for then, but Cara saw a lecture in the Mandalorian’s near future.

Grinning, Cara squeezed Din’s hand before she let go and got to her feet. Walking around him, she approached Paz. Holding out her hands, she told him, “Here. Give me the little monster. You can go help Lant get Din off the floor.”

He looked down at her, and she gestured again, saying, “Come on. Quit hogging him and hand him over.”

The breath of a sigh passed from under his helmet, and then she had her hands full of a wiggly green womp rat.

Holding Din’s kid close, she squeezed him to her chest in both her arms and laughed when he squealed. His little hands came up and smacked at her cheeks, and Cara ducked her face against his neck and blew raspberries until he giggled with a rolling belly laugh. Who would have thought a few months ago she had made the declaration that she didn’t _do_ the baby thing.

Chuckling with the kid, Cara turned around to face the other three.

Lant was putting a wristband on Din. It was just like the one he wore for almost three weeks right after taking down Gideon. It was positioned over his pulse point and would send readings from his vitals to the bracer on the medic’s arm.

“Still doing okay, Din?” Lant asked, touching a few buttons on the controls.

“Yes.”

Looking at the small readout screen, the medic nodded and then turned back to Din. Cara watched him lay a hand on Din’s back while the other came down over his left thigh. He squeezed it, “How’s that feel?”

Din’s visor tipped toward what the medic was doing. “It’s…” Lant’s hand moved down the leg, squeezing a few more times, and Din finished by saying, “Strange.”

“Strange how?”

“Like the leg is half asleep.”

Lant nodded, “That makes sense. We’ll get you up and moving around, get your circulation flowing again and test it out again in a little bit.”

“Okay.”

“Ready to do this?”

“Yeah.”

“All right. Just like sitting up, take it slow.”

Holding the child close, Cara watched the three men work together and finally got Din to his feet. It seemed to be going well until Din started to straighten out his back, and a clipped cry sounded through the cockpit. Din groaned, “Wait—stop!”

The child mewled in Cara’s arms as she watched Lant and Paz freeze. Watching the scene, she winced in sympathy as Din’s breaths turned choppy. Pulling his hand out of Lent’s grip, he propped it against his leg. He shifted it back, trying to straighten up and stopped again with a curse.

Lant took him by the arm, “Okay, Easy. Give it a minute.”

 _“Yeah,”_ Din strained as he started scooting his hand up his leg. Bit by bit, he got his back to straighten out, and then he sagged a little from the relief of it. Paz’s hand landed between Din’s shoulders and steadied him.

Tilting his head to look at Din, Paz asked him, “Think you can do the ladder?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

Cara walked over, “Din, maybe you should just let them lower you down.” He looked at her, and she said, “You’re having a hard time as it is and, no offense, pal, but you look like crap.”

“Thanks,” Din grumbled, but she still heard the smirk. He faced Paz, “I should be able to manage, with a little help.”

~~

The four of them stood around looking at the top of the ladder, and Din said, “That’s… going to be a problem.” He looked at Lant, “I’ll never be able to bend over enough to grab the handles and get myself started.”

“No problem. I’ll go down first; Paz can help you get started, and I’ll be down there in case you need a hand toward the bottom.”

Cara looked at Lant, “Shouldn’t Paz go down first? If Din slips or has a misstep, you want the big guy down there to grab him.”

“No,” Din looked at her, “Lant’s right. I’m going to need Paz up here. As you implied, he’s the strongest, and he’s going to have to… hold me up until I’m down far enough to get my hands on the railing.”

She looked at Din. It was hard for him to get the words out, to admit that he couldn’t do the ladder without help. At least he was accepting it and not fighting them over it. She’d take what she could get.

Giving Din a smirk, she told him, “Sounds like a plan. Guess I’ll take the squirt and go first.”

Cara left them on the upper deck and went down the ladder. Her feet hit the floor in the cargo bay, and she looked up, watching Lant as he started down. He stopped midway, and she could just barely see past him, watching as one of Din’s boots landed on the top rung.

There was a little conversation as Paz and Din got coordinated, and then his other foot dropped down. Lant guided it to the second rung down, saying, “That’s it. You’re good.”

She watched as Lant waited for Din to take a step down, and then he took one. Din hit the next rung down, and then Lant did the same. They went like that down two more times, and then Din was able to grab the top rung. He looked a little shaky, but Lant continued to stay just a few steps below, moving lower each time after Din.

Every so often, the medic would reach up and guide Din’s boot to a rung, but Cara was relieved to see them doing well.

Din was halfway; Lant, just a few rungs from the bottom when their progress stalled out in the space between the two massive decks. Holding the baby, Cara listened to the conversation in the ladder well.

“Din, you good?” Lant asked

“Yeah, just—” His helmet leaned forward and rested against his hands on the rung. “Just give me a second.”

“Dizzy again?” Paz asked from above.

“Little bit.”

Din sounded drained, and Cara reached up to touch the medic’s calf, “Lant…”

He held out a hand, telling her it was okay. Then he looked up, telling Din, “Take your time, man. No one’s in a hurry.”

Cara heard Din draw in a breath, saying, “I’m good.” Then, he was lowering himself down to the next rung. Lant stayed where he was that time, closing the gap between them a little bit. Din’s foot reached for the next one, and Lant’s hand guided him to it, saying, “Doing good. Just a few more to go.”

Cara switched the baby to her hip as Lant came down a rung. Din lowered his foot toward the next one and his weak leg gave out on him. There was a grunt as he lost his grip, and then Din was clambering down the short distance toward the medic.

“Lant!” Cara cried, shooting her hand up, just barely able to catch the side of Din’s hip.

“I got him,” he assured her, straining a little as Din’s back knocked against him. The medic’s arm banded around Din’s chest; his other hand clinging to the rung. Their momentum caused them to swing back a little from the ladder, and Cara braced a hand against Lant’s back. She threw her weight forward as Din grabbed the side of the ladder, and they stabilized.

Paz’s voice called from above, “You okay, _beroya?”_

“Yeah,” Din called back.

Cara looked up and found Paz. Laying on his stomach, he had a hand braced on a rung, and his top half was hanging head-first into the well. No doubt, he had hit the deck and dove in, trying to grab the wounded Mandalorian as he began to fall.

“You got it?”

Lant’s question brought her focus on the two right above her. She saw Din nod, and she set the baby down.

Cara got both hands on Din’s hips, steadying him as Lant came down the last few rungs. Paz was still watching from the floor above, and then Lant’s hands joined hers. Holing Din’s sides, he told him, “We got you, Din. You can let go and drop if you want to.”

Din lowered himself down another step and looked down, and Cara gave him a nod.

“Okay,” he told them. Then, slowly, he let himself fall into their hands.

Cara and Lant accepted his weight between the two of them and set him on his feet.

She heard Paz climbing down as Lant said, “Knocked around a bit, Djarin?” The medic challenged Din’s earlier assessment of his head, adding, “It seems more like you got your bell rung.”

Paz grabbed the kid that was toddling over to him, and Din set the pace as they headed toward the gurney at the end of the cargo bay.

Din’s gate was a little shaky, but at least his legs were strong enough to support his weight. Answering Lant, he said, “Got introduced into the side of a building earlier. Vertigo’s been kind of touch-and-go since.”

They stopped in front of the gurney, and Lant took Din by the bicep as he sat on the edge. Guiding the Mandalorian down onto his side, Lant told him, “Okay, man. We’ll get it checked out in the Medbay.”

Din groaned a little in complaint, and Cara knew that _he_ knew that meant a droid.

“Hey,” She touched his shoulder from the other side. She got a grunt in response, and she said, “It’s cool. QM-5 is waiting in the ‘bay.”

Din’s helmet turned to look over his shoulder at her, “Really?”

He sounded a little more upbeat at the familiar droid. Smiling, she told him, “Yeah.”

~~

The ride through the tunnel was quiet, and Din let the lingering effects of the medicine pull him back under. He was drifting for a little while when Paz must have set his foundling down beside him because then the familiar nudging against his chest began. He seemed to have gotten settled, and Din opened his eyes to glance down at him, and found the babe staring straight into his visor.

Laying on the pillow beside him, his little arms were spread wide as his hands held either side of his visor. With his face pressed against the glass, a small cloud of condensation fogged up and then disappeared with each breath.

Din looked back at him, “Hi.”

The child cooed and smacked the sides a few times. The sound and vibration of his actions didn’t do anything to help the pounding in his head, and Din closed his eyes as a spike of pain shot through his forehead.

There was a softer coo, then three lighter smacks. The child wanted the helmet off. Din opened his eyes and looked at his foundling, telling him, “Not yet.”

The kid growled, and Din grinned at him from behind the visor, “Patience, _ad’ika.”_ He tipped his head down and touched it to his son’s brow.

The babe garbled something at him and then closed his eyes. Feeling groggy, Din did the same, letting himself drift in and out throughout the rest of the ride through the tunnel.

He didn’t come back around until he felt a slight jarring as the gurney stopped, then a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Din.”

“Yeah,” he opened his eyes and found Lant bent over and looking at him. The room behind him looked like any other room in the trauma department, save for the two warriors standing just off to the side.

Lant told him, “I've got QM here. I want to do a scan of your head first, and then we’ll get into the scans for your back.”

Cara came forward and removed the sleeping child from his pillow, and Din looked toward the soft mechanical sound of a droid approaching.

He didn’t mind as much as he would have a couple of years ago. Kuiil’s IG unit had helped to turn the tides as far as his rooted droid aversions went. QM was one Din had added to his shortlist of droids he tolerated. He couldn’t go as far as saying he _trusted_ them—completely. At least he didn’t have the same strong knee-jerk reaction to shoot them down anymore.

“Din Djarin.” The droid greeted him in its modulated voice as it walked near.

“QM,” Din acknowledged.

“You’re back before your scheduled check-up.”

“Yeah.” Din watched as the droid propped a hand on its hip. He had just arrived, and it was already acting annoyed. Looking at it, he added, “Got dragged into a little bit of trouble.”

One of its metal fingers tapped against its hip, “You seem to have a knack for that.”

Din scowled, “It wasn’t even my fault.”

Lant sighed, “I’ll step away so QM can do the scan. We’ll still be here in the room, though.”

“Okay,” replied Din, and the sound of a curtain being pulled along the track came from his other side.

Looking down, he saw Paz walking the dark blue material around the foot of the gurney. He moved past with it and gave Din a forward tilt of his head before closing it the rest of the way. The gesture was a vow that the Mandalorian would stand guard while Din was without his helmet in such a public area.

With Din and the droid enclosed within the curtain, it beckoned him with a hand, nagging, “Come on. You are concealed. Remove your helmet, so I can see what you’ve managed to do to yourself.”

Din threw it a look as he reached below the lip of steel at his jaw and released the catch. Pushing it off his head, he told QM, “I didn’t _do_ anything to myself, so you can lay off now.”

The droid looked at him, “There is no need for hostility.”

“I’m not being hostile.” Din cocked an eyebrow, “I can show you hostile.”

Before the droid could counter, Lant’s voice came from outside the curtain, sounding bored, “QM, stop badgering the guy and just do the scan.”

The droid turned at the wall of curtain and raised its arms in defense, “I’m not badgering. I am simply—”

“QM. The scan.”

The droid sighed and then turned back to face him. Din watched it as it reached for the scanner on the wall and asked, “Where’d they have you before I got here?”

It looked at him and then focused on its job, saying, “Juvenile ward. Males. Ages 13-17.”

Din told it, “That’s your problem.”

Looking at him, it paused. “What is?”

“You’re talking to me like I’m some smart-mouthed kid.”

It blinked as it processed his statement. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Din grinned, “I know how they can be.”

“Do you? Turn your head.”

“Yep.” Din moved as requested, saying, “I used to be one.”

“Can confirm.” Paz’s disembodied voice interjected.

Cara snickered.

Din rolled his eyes.

“If that is the case,” QM considered, “my apologies. I will look into my processing.”

A mechanical finger touched the left side of his forehead. It made him wince.

“You have a laceration and some swelling. I will clean and dress it for you.”

“Thanks.”

QM looked at him, “You are welcome.”

“How’s the scan, QM?” asked Lant

Opening a drawer, the droid sifted through the contents, answering, “Complete and should be available in his chart anytime now.”

A moment, then, “Okay. I got it.”

QM walked around the gurney, and Din heard it running water at the sink behind him. It returned, holding a white cloth. It was wet and warm, and when the droid stroked it down the side of his face, his eyes fell closed as it wiped at the dried, sticky blood.

The droid had been programmed for neurosurgery. To do that, it needed to have a delicate touch. Knowing it had just gotten removed from nursing a bunch of rowdy teenage boys, it was a relief that it’s gentle touch hadn’t been affected as its attitude had been.

“Din Djarin.”

“What.” His voice sounded sleep heavy, even to his ears, and he cleared his throat.

QM told him, “You fell asleep as I tended to you. That is a first. Perhaps we should keep you awake until your medic has reviewed the scan of your head.”

“It’s okay, QM,” Cara answered for him. “He’s just riding the synthetic Opioid wave.”

It turned toward the curtain, “I don’t understand your meaning.”

Din smirked, “She’s saying, I’m medicated. Extensively.”

The droid turned back to him. Its eyes roamed up and down his body then focused again on his face, “That means you must be seriously injured.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“They didn’t tell me you were seriously injured.” QM turned and spoke past the curtain, “Lant, you didn’t tell me he was seriously injured.”

“QM, it’s okay,” Din said, and then grinned at the thought that he was lying there, pretty much beat to hell, and trying to comfort a damn droid. His life had become so weird.

Turning back, QM told him, “I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“No, apparently, you are not.” It looked him over again, telling him, “You will be, though.” Holding a few butterfly closures, it leaned in and applied one to the gash on his forehead. Preparing another, it looked at Din and muttered, “Nobody tells me anything around here.”

~~

Sometime late the following morning, Lant walked into Din’s room, throwing out the order, “All right, everybody out. I want a word with my patient.”

Cara watched him as he came to stand beside the bed. She looked over to Din, “What did you do?”

Meeting her gaze, Din gave her a shrug.

“C’mon, get up, let’s go…” Lant encouraged, gesturing Cara out of her seat and herding Paz toward the door. “Everybody out.”

The shock trooper pushed to her feet, chuckling and telling Din, “You are so going to get it.”

“There we go, keep moving…” Lant ushered as the two warriors hesitated and then peeled themselves from their friend’s bedside. He was sure that at least a part of their hesitation had to do with them taking a moment to process the rare occurrence of a civilian having the nerve to order them around.

But, Lant’s been doing this for too long to be intimidated by statue, weapons, or tough attitudes. He’s seen it all before, many times, and he learned early on that if he wanted to keep his position and make a difference, he was going to have to demand authority over these types of warrior patients and their crew.

Stepping out into the hall with them, Lant looked at Cara’s puzzled expression and then over to Paz’s visor, saying, “Thanks, guys. You can wait out here or get some fresh air or whatever.”

He grabbed the door and started to turn away. The Mandalorian’s large gloved hand gripped the door, and Cara walked up to him, asking, “What’s going on, Lant.”

“Nothing.” She gave him a look, and he sighed, “Nothing that you two need to worry about. Okay? I want a few minutes with him. That’s all. Now, go grab a meal or something.”

Lant pulled on the door again and then turned and stared hard into the visor towering over him. There was something about the way Paz tried to intimidate him while cradling the sleeping babe that made Lant want to grin.

He didn’t dare to. He did, however, let the standoff last for a few more seconds before assuring, “Din’s okay; this is nothing bad.” His head ticked toward Cara, “I don’t waste time sugar coating things. If I say he’s okay, then he’s okay.”

The Mandalorian’s visor tilted toward Cara, and she gave him a nod, “You can trust what he says, big guy.” He turned back and, with the hint of a growl, dropped his hand.

Giving the soldier a nod, he stepped back into the room and shut the door.

~~

Din tracked him as he walked back over to the bed. He waited as he took a seat on the side before asking, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing much. I just wanted to go over some test results with you.”

Din cocked his head at that, pointing out, “You don’t normally clear the room for that.”

“I also wanted to talk about a couple of things that don’t concern anyone but me and you.”

“Such as?”

Lant lifted a palm, “Okay if we start with the results?”

“That depends, if what comes after is bad news…”

No.” Lant jumped in, “No, no. Nothing like that. Just a couple of questions.”

Din relaxed back against the pillows, “Okay. So, what about the results?”

“We’ve got a little bit of crappy news, and some good,” he said, and then looked at the datapad in his hand. “So, the bad news is we’re looking at a setback. The good news is, it’s nothing that can’t be reversed.” Lant looked at his friend, deciding, “So, that’s what we're going to focus on and take away from this, okay? You with me on that?”

“Yeah,”

The reply was a little too soft for his liking, and Lant stressed, “This is fixable, Din.”

Din rolled a shoulder and then nodded, “I know.”

Lant held his gaze a moment longer before looking back at the report on his datapad, “Imaging confirms the swelling I saw around your spine. You know how that can put pressure on your spinal cord and cause weakness and mobility issues until it resides.”

He looked back to Din, “I don’t anticipate anything too debilitating, you’ll still be able to walk around, but you’ll have to be smart about it. Don’t push yourself. Know your limits. Pretty much everything I tell you each time you check-in from the _Crest_. You’ll just have to be extra cautious until you get your strength back up to where it was.”

“Any idea how long that’ll take? To get back to where I was before yesterday happened?”

“In regards to the swelling, if you’re smart, and baby it, a week tops.”

“And… _not_ in regards to the swelling? What else is there?”

Lant spoke softly as he dropped the bomb, “It looks like whatever happened yesterday, whatever abuse your body absorbed, was enough that your spinal cord suffered a 12% regression in recovery.”

Din’s hands clenched, and he sighed hard. It came out a little shaky, and Lant touched his arm. He waited a moment before finishing gently, “That’s putting you back about three weeks, by my guess.”

Lant took in how tense Din was and squeezed his arm, saying, “We’ll get you started on another Bacta infusion. It’ll—”

Din scoffed, muttering something under his breath and shoved himself up higher in the bed.

Bringing his hand back to his lap, Lant leaned forward, inquiring, “I missed that—what?”

Din faced him, “I said, I’ve had enough Bacta infusions that I should be bleeding the damn stuff by now.”

“True, but you know how much they help.” Din sat there, and Lant could feel the glare coming at him from behind the visor. He quirked an eyebrow at his friend, “Want me to show you a chart of where you’d be _without_ it?”

“I _know_ where I’d be.”

“Because you wouldn’t be walking yet, I can tell you that much right now.”

“I know I wouldn’t. You don’t need to remind me,” argued Din.

Lant nodded, and his tone softened, “All right. So, how about we try to keep our sights focused on the positives.”

Din stared at him, then sighed. “Right.”

“Good,” he smiled, then stretched to lay the datapad on the chair by the bed.

Looking back, he said, “Something else, Din. I noticed your weight is down a little bit. Nothing alarming, but I know your activity level is nowhere near what it used to be before your injury a few months ago. So, you shouldn’t be losing weight.” He paused, then asked, “Have you been sick recently, or anything?”

Shaking his head, Din sounded a little thrown off, answering, “No. Not at all.”

“That’s good. You and the kid doing okay out there?”

“Yes.”

“He seems nice and healthy.” Lant’s gaze narrowed the slightest, “You’re not… low on food or resources, giving your rations to the baby?”

Din’s helmet flinched back like it was a ridiculous question. His tone, a little dubious, backed up his reaction, _“No.”_

Lant raised his hands, “Hey. You can’t tell me why you’re dropping pounds. I’m just trying to help you figure it out.”

The Mandalorian seemed to stand down a little, and Lant said, “So, we can cross off a lack of provisions from the list of possibilities.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He nodded, then asked, “How has your appetite been?”

A pause. “My appetite?”

“Yes, Din, your appetite. That annoying thing that makes us feel hungry and reminds us to eat.”

Din leaned in a little, “Don’t patronize me, Lant.”

Lant leaned in just as far, “Don’t stall by restating the question, Din.”

Din huffed, “I don’t know, I eat when I’m hungry.”

He watched Din adjust against the pillows, asking, “Three squares a day, maybe a snack or two thrown in?”

“I don’t… maybe.”

“Try to think, Din. Go back a few days in your schedule, can you remember what your meals were like?”

Din came back with a sharp reply, challenging, “Can you?”

Lant’s brow pulled together, and he cocked his head at his patient. It wasn’t like Din to be argumentative. Even in the past, when he’s been upset or frustrated, Din’s always been pretty level-headed and logical. Now, he was acting like he was trying to pick a fight.

“Hey.” Frowning a little, Lant asked, “All things considered, are you feeling okay right now?” He looked Din over, took in his tense posture, counted his breaths, and then looked at his vitals on his bracer. Looking back, he asked, “What’s going on, Din?”

Din drew in a couple of breaths and practically growled, “Nothing.”

“Yeah, well, your heart rate is telling me a different story.” Din didn’t respond, and Lant said, “You’re in pain or your upset. Talk to me.” He laid a hand on Din’s arm and gave it a squeeze.

Din breathed out a gasp, and Lant looked down at his hand, at the unnatural tightness he felt in the muscle. His eyes skipped back to the warrior’s visor, “Damn, it are you locking—”

Din jerked forward with a grunt.

“Shit.” Lant grabbed him before he tipped to the side. Righting him in the bed, he steadied him with a hand. Din panted a few times as Lant pressed the button to lower the head of the bed, “No wonder you were being an ass. _Damn it_ , Din. Why didn’t you tell me this was coming on? We could have maybe headed it off.”

Getting Din laid flat, Lant supported his neck as he pulled out all but one of the pillows. Din’s hand clenched, and his arm jerked. Lant grabbed his hand and rubbed his arm, “Just try to relax, Din. It’ll pass.”

Din’s helmet ticked toward him, “I… I’m—” his voice cut off, and he growled.

“Hey, easy. Getting upset will only make it worse.”

“Not—upset.” Din’s voice cracked as he forced the words out. He swallowed a couple of times, tried to talk, but then slammed his fist against the mattress.

Lant looked down with concern as Din sucked in a few careful breaths, each one hitched or faltered, and then he shouted, “Not. Upset!” Din swallowed again, then hollered, _“I’m pissed!”_

The door across the room cracked open, and Lant tossed a look over his shoulder, leveling whoever opened it with a hard glare.

The door closed, and he turned back to the man suffering in the bed. Looking him over, Lant declared, “I’m removing your cowl,” and reached behind Din’s neck and pulled apart the closure. Carefully, he pulled away the protective garment.

“Hey,” Lant said as Din was drawing up a knee as he groaned. “Hey. Look at me, Din.” He heard harsh breaths getting sucked through clenched teeth as the Mandalorian’s helmet turned toward him a little. “You looking at me?”

A strangled response started to filter through the helmet before it cut off and got finished by another frustrated growl.

“Easy.” Grabbing Din’s hands, he leaned directly over his visor, “If your throat is too tight to speak, just squeeze with your right hand for yes and the left for no. Okay? You looking at me?”

A squeeze from Din’s right hand.

Lant gave Din a hard look, saying, “Be pissed. That’s fine. It’s understandable, but for right now, you need to force yourself to _calm down_. Stress can be a trigger for spasticity. Right? You remember that?”

A slight squeak of a voice and Din’s neck worked as he forced down a swallow. He squeezed with his right hand.

The medic nodded, “Okay, man, then you know what you have to do.”

Another squeeze with his right.

“Good.” Looking at Din, he said, “You’re topped off on your meds. I can’t give you anything for pain or spasms yet. Do you want a mild sedative? It would help.”

Din’s head moved like he tried to shake it, but then he just breathed hard a couple of times, and his left hand clamped down over Lant’s.

“That’s a no. Okay. I got ya. You want me to massage the locked areas? It’ll help this to pass quicker.”

Din didn’t think about it too long before his right hand squeezed.

“Okay, Din. You work on chilling out, and, as I said, you’re up on your meds, so we’ll get this attack knocked out pretty quick.”

Pulling his hands away from Din’s, Lant leaned over the bed and placed his palms on the sides of Din’s neck. Holding it in his hands, he was gentle as he started massaging along the muscles locked tight with long strokes. It took a few passes, but the rigidity began to back off.

Looking at Din, he wasn’t sure if he was looking back or not, but he nodded in approval as the Mandalorian worked at taking careful, calming breaths. The cords under Lant’s touch loosened more, and he felt Din’s throat working a couple of times before he swallowed. Then he did it again. Lant could tell it was coming more naturally, and he asked, “Doing a little better?”

Din tipped his head back, stretching his neck and managed a raspy, _“Yes.”_

Lant grinned, “Good.” His hands dropped to Din’s chest. The muscle spasms there were just as strong, but as he worked with a careful touch, he felt those too begin to ease as the massage drew blood back into the tissues. Another few long strokes with the heel of his hand, and Din started breathing easier.

Moving down to the Mandalorian’s arms, he said, “It’s okay to be mad, Din. You have to process that emotion, though. You can’t just hold onto it.”

Din sighed as his arms started to relax and fell back toward his sides.

Gripping the rail of the bed, Lant looked over his patient, asking, “Still doing better?”

Din managed a nod, and Lant nodded back, sighing, and ran a hand through his hair, telling him, “Good. That’s good.” Sitting down on the edge of the bed again, he asked, “You up to finishing our talk, or are you drained?”

Din’s head angled toward him. His voice was a little strained, but it worked for him as he said, “I’m okay.”

Lant considered his statement for a moment as he looked at Din’s vials on his bracer. Taking a breath, he turned back to Din and touched his arm, asking, “It’s just you and the kid out there?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a lot to deal with on your own while trying to recover from a serious back injury, Din. I honestly don’t know how you’re managing it.”

There was a huff that might have been a laugh, then Din waved a hand toward his current condition, saying, “Apparently, not very well.”

“Well,” Lant folded his arms across his chest, “That’s not altogether true. Your son is healthy; seems to be happy, and just a little bit spoiled. So, you’re hitting all the right marks where he’s concerned. As far as your current situation goes, you got attacked, man. That’s not your fault. That’s just some shitty bad luck.”

Din shook his head carefully as he stretched out his arm. It sounded like he was wincing as he said, “Right, and now I get to go through this shit again.”

The tinge of darkness in his tone brought Lant back to what they were discussing earlier. He thought about how he wanted to approach it as Din reached out and raised the head of the bed a little.

Lant helped him to get the discarded pillows resituated. When Din seemed more comfortable, he asked, “Can we go back to trying to figure out why you’re dropping pounds?”

“Sure,” Din told him and rubbed at the lingering stiffness in his chest.

“Be honest with me, man. How’s your appetite been?”

Din’s exhale was heavy, but he said, “I haven’t been paying attention, but I guess… not great.”

“You’ve got a damn hard thing going on for you here, Din. Is it possible that it’s getting to be too much?”

“I…” His hand paused on his chest. “I don’t think about that—if it’s too much or not. I don’t have a choice about it, so I just don’t think about it.”

“I get you, but here’s the thing. You can refuse to think about or acknowledge how you feel about being in a tough situation, but that doesn’t mean your mind just disregards those negative thoughts. They don’t just magically float off into space the minute you turn them off.”

He looked at Din, telling him, “Those thoughts and emotions, they just end up getting buried deep. But they don’t stay buried. They creep back up when you’re not paying attention, and they make everything seem way harder than it should be. It can drag your spirits down, and I’m wondering if that might be affecting when or how much you eat. Because I’m telling you, you’re not getting enough.”

Din relaxed back against the pillows, “That could be some of it, I guess, but I think more so…” he hesitated, and then his head angled toward him as he cautioned, “You’re not going to like this.”

Lant closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, then exhaled, saying, “I’m ready.”

Din told him, “With what I have to do… out there with the kid, I can’t take the meds like you want me to. I haven’t been for a while.”

Lant gave him a weary sigh, then said, “And, who wants to eat when they’re hurting.”

“Exactly.”

“Din…” Lant rubbed a hand along his brow, “You’ve got to figure something else out. You say you can’t stay in one place for a few months.”

“No.”

“You can’t let Cara take the kid while you recover in one place for a few months.”

_“No.”_

“Right. Well, dude, you need to be able to take your meds. You need help, Din. It’s that simple. Have you asked Cara to travel with you?”

“No, and I’m not going to. Cara’s got her own life going on partnered with Karga. She’s happy.”

“You know she would drop it in a heartbeat.”

“I do.”

“But you won’t ask.”

“She’s doing enough for us as it is, Lant. So, no. I won’t.”

“What about the big blue guy?”

Din chuckled, “Paz.”

“Right.” What about him? Would he be willing to help?”

Din thought, then replied hesitantly, “… probably.”

“Is there an issue?”

Din shifted in the bed, “Our history… it’s complicated.”

“He seems to care, Din. He’s been hanging right by your side since I climbed up to the cockpit last night.” Din didn’t respond, and he asked, “Do you disagree?”

His friend looked at him, “No. He does care. He—he’s the reason things didn’t end up a lot worse for me yesterday.”

“Do you admit you need some help?”

Din drew in a long breath and, looking at Lant, let it out slowly. “Yeah.”

“Then, dude. You should ask him for it.”

~~

Cara and Paz didn’t say much after Lant had unceremoniously kicked them out into the hallway. They each moved and picked out a wall to lean against. The baby was asleep, so he was no help breaking the awkward silence as they waited to be let back in. Tilting her head, Cara took in the way the warrior looked down at Din’s foundling. Pinching the small blanket in his fingers, it was almost delicate, the way he tucked it around the tiny body.

“You’re good with him; you know that?”

Paz’s visor tipped up to look at her, and Cara jutted her chin toward the child. Looking back down, Paz said, “He makes it easy. He’s a good kid.”

“That makes it sound like you have past experience with children.”

The blue Mandalorian shifted against the wall to lean against it more, “There are always children around in the Tribe.” He looked down at the babe, “It’s a shame this little one can’t run around and play with them.”

Cara gave him a careful look, confirming, “You know why Din can’t stay long term.”

“I know of the danger after these two, yes.”

It was a few minutes later when the babe started to stir. Cara watched Paz smooth his thumb over the frown on his little head, but the kid got fussy and started whining.

The sound of Din shouting something had them both lunging for the door.

Cara got there first and cracked it open. She found Lant leaning over Din as he struggled in the bed. The medic looked over his shoulder and nailed her with his death-glare.

The shock trooper pulled back and closed the door.

“What’s going on?”

Cara spun around and leaned against the door before the Mandalorian could get a grip on the handle. Giving him a strained smile, she said, “Din’s having a little bit of trouble. Lant’s got it covered. They don’t need us in there right now.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Probably something very similar to what happened in the ship before you dosed him to the gills.”

Paz grunted but didn’t seem like he was going to try for the door again. Cara looked at the kid blinking at her from around the large hand stroking his ear, and she told big blue, “C’mon, let’s go get him something to eat.”

Paz seemed reluctant to leave, and Cara walked up. Touching the kid’s head, she told Paz, “He’s probably picking up on what Din is going through. He doesn’t need the stress if he won’t be allowed to help.”

The Mandalorian looked down at the child, then back to the closed door to Din’s room. Cara knew he felt a duty to protect both the kid and his father, and she assured, “Lant is with him, big guy. Din’s in good hands. If I weren’t confident about that, he never would have been able to get me out of the room.”

His visor turned back to her, and she gave him a look that backed up her words. He gave her a nod and then fell into step beside her as she led them to the cafeteria.

~~

“Tell me about the battle on Nevarro.”

Cara looked across the table to where Paz was cutting up some Nuna legs into bite-sized pieces for the child sitting on his lap. She didn’t like thinking about Nevarro and usually tried not to as much as possible. Then the heavy infantry soldier across the table from her looked up from what he was doing, and his tone softened, asking, “Please.”

She sat back into her chair and breathed out a deep breath. Looking out the window, she told him, “It was bad.” A humorless chuckle passed her lips as the memories played through her mind, “It was _really_ bad.”

Paz set down the utensils and turned the plate so the babe could easily reach the meat. His little green hand grabbed a piece, and he shoved it into his mouth. Chewing with an open mouth, he gave her a goofy grin.

She smiled back at him, watching him eat, and told Paz, “It was just one big set-up. Din kind of figured it might be, but he was desperate to get the hunters off their back.”

“But, they’re still not off his back.”

“Yeah, that’s because the Moff switched from going through the Guild to just hiring out Mercs himself. If anything, it’s gotten worse.”

“Go on.”

She drew in another breath and looked at him, “Well,” a nervous laugh bubbled out, and she shrugged, “It was bad. Uh,” she tried to come up with something else to say. It was hard when you pushed the recollections away every time they crept up.

The memories were mean, and they were rude. They didn’t care what they did to you; all they cared about was shoving themselves into your consciousness and dragging you back to when they happened. They forced on you all of the sounds, the smells, the gripping fear knowing the only friend you’ve had in _years_ was dying right in front—

“Cara.”

She blinked back up to him, and Paz said, “If it’s too much…”

“No.” Shaking her head, she smiled and wiped her sweaty palms on her pants. “No, it’s okay.” Leaning against the table, she picked up a piece of meat that fell off the plate and handed it to the babe.

“So, the battle on Nevarro sucked big time. We thought it was just going to be the Client and maybe four troopers. Next thing we know, it’s a Moff with fifty troopers and no way out. An IG unit came to our aid, wiping out over a quarter of the troopers, and Din cut down at least that many more with the E-web.”

Paz nodded, “Din told me about that.” He paused, “He doesn’t remember it.”

“No,” Cara shook her head. “He doesn’t. Just like he doesn’t remember getting caught in the explosion.”

“What happened after that.”

She wiped her hands on her pants again, this was something she didn’t like to think about, but maybe if Paz understood what Din had been through, he would be willing to continue to help him. Nodding, she took in a breath, “I went out there and grabbed him, dragged him back into the Cantina. It was bad.” She couldn’t get away from that phrase, but Paz only nodded, encouraging her on.

Looking away from the kid and his sympathetic eyes, she said, “I’ve seen a lot of people die. On the battlefields, I’ve lost people, had people die in my arms, and,” looking back at Paz, she told him, “There was no question, Blue. Din was dying. He had a river of clotty, dark blood, running out the side of his helmet. I wanted to remove it, to see if I could do anything, and…”

She cut off, swallowing as she nodded, and her gaze narrowed as she thought, “I think I knew then that nothing could be done. Din needed a medical facility or Bacta, and we had neither. It was only a matter of minutes before he was dead, and I knew that, but I wouldn’t accept it.”

Din’s foundling made a gurgling coo as he reached for a pile of mashed vegetables, and Cara reached across the table and handed him a spoon. He gripped it in his little claws and then waved it over his head at her. Chuckling at the babe helped to push back the tears in her eyes, she’d been refusing to fall. The kid made that more manageable as he smiled at her, flailing his arms and, in the process, clanging the spoon against big blue’s chest armor.

Paz tapped the table beside the plate, saying, “Eat, _verd’ika.”_

The statement seemed to remind the child of what he was holding the spoon for, and he dug it into the goopy orange mass on the plate.

Cringing at the sight, Cara continued, “Din knew he was dying. His only concern was getting the kid to safety. He snapped off his mythosaur pendant from is neck and put it in my had. Told me to get to the sewers and find the covert. He said to get to the Tribe and show them the pendant and tell them that he had sent us, that he had, that he was—” She cut off and shook her head.

It was a relief when Paz nodded, saying, “I understand.”

She nodded, “Din wouldn’t let us take him with us. He insisted on staying behind to hold the Imps off as long as he could.” Cara scoffed, feeling the same frustration and anger from then, and shook her head, “The ass could barely move, and he thought he was going to be able to make a difference once they stormed the place.”

“He would have tried.”

She glared over the table, “He would have cut down two, maybe three before his strength gave out.”

“That’s three less that would have come after you all if you had dragged him into the sewers to die.”

Cara huffed, but she knew he was right. She also knew she would have done the same damn thing.

Taking a napkin and wiping the babe’s chin, Paz told her, “Din relayed that IG unit healed his head wound with Bacta spray.”

“Yeah,” Cara nodded. She remembered the relief at seeing him draped over the droid, and she told Paz, “After the spray, Din was entirely out of it at first, but he wasn’t dead. It healed the wound, but his head was still a mess. None of us knew, but so was his back, and after taking down Gideon’s Tie Fighter, he landed with the Phoenix and just crumpled to the ground.”

She watched Paz peel the wrapper off a straw and stick it into a juice cup. He handed it to the kid, and she told him, “Din positioned his landing in a way that he fell onto his stomach, and I could _hear_ his pain before I even got to him. His head, he was in so much pain.”

“But not his back.”

Cara caught the empty juice cup that shot across the table and looked at Paz, saying, “No, not his back. Din was paralyzed by that time. He couldn’t feel anything below the waist.”

“Din told me he was sent to the Guild’s Facility—to here.”

“Yes. Lant was lead neuro-medic that day. They brought him in, and he was the one to program the droid that would do the surgeries Din would need. Lant set up the Bacta infusion schedule and worked with Din through his rehab.

“And, in the beginning, when Din woke after that first surgery, he freaked a little. He couldn’t remember where he was or why he was there or why he couldn’t feel his legs. Lant was there with us. He was patient as he got through to Din and got him calmed down.” Cara explained, as they got up from the table and threw away their trash.

Walking into the hallway, they started back toward Din’s room. Paz hummed in thought, then looked at her, “Din told me about the gap in his memory. He told me that when he first woke up, it had been ‘worse’ than it is now. The _way_ he said it gave me the impression he was modest in his statement.

Cara grinned, “Just a little bit.” Her smiled faded, and she said, “When Din woke up, we figured out that his last memory was something that happened a couple of years ago. For him, it had been like it was the day before.”

Paz tilted his head, “That’s why Lant was the one to calm Din when he first came around; you couldn’t. Din didn’t remember you—or the child.”

Cara shook her head, “Not at first, no. But he didn’t freak about it or anything. He didn’t push the kid away like I thought he might. Din didn’t act toward him like he normally would, but the child seemed to understand. He didn’t push me away, either. I think maybe Din did remember us a little. Somehow, in the back of his mind, like maybe we seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen us before. I asked him at first, a couple of times if he wanted us to leave, and he never did.”

Paz nodded, “How many infusions did it take before he remembered you?”

“He was on his third when he just drew the kid against himself and really held him. Then, he looked at me and said my name. That was huge because Lant had made sure to keep that information from him. Din asked, but Lant wouldn’t let me tell him, saying it would be better for it to come to him naturally instead of forcing an implied memory.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

Smiling to herself, she told Paz, “That was a good day.”

They walked in silence for a while, and Paz looked straight ahead as he asked, “Did he ever tell you why he delivered the child?” He looked at her, “I can’t figure out why Din would have ever turned him in, to begin with. I look at him now, how he is with the child, and I don’t see him being able to make that decision.”

“Din’s changed since taking in the kid, that’s my take on it. I never asked, but I have a pretty good idea on how it was before he took in his foundling.”

“Can you explain it to me?”

Cara stopped and looked at him, “I can’t tell you what he was thinking or anything like that, all I can do is tell you what I think based on my own experiences bounty hunting these past few months.”

He nodded, “Anything would help.”

She looked at him for a beat and then started walking again, telling him, “Din’s been a bounty hunter for years, Paz. For _years_ he’s hunted living beings and turned them in for payment, and I can tell you, it’s not always criminals that show up on bounty pucks. In the time I’ve been helping out, I’ve been sent after runaway wives, escaped slaves, and an old woman healer that might have saved a hundred souls, but couldn’t save the son of a diplomat who never had a chance to begin with, and now her face was on a damned bounty puck. Every-damn-single one of them had a sob story, a reason why I shouldn’t bring them in.

“Begging, bargaining, bribing… almost every one of them tried to persuade me to let them go—and, this hasn’t been my experience so far, but Paz,” Cara stopped and turned. Leaning in, she stressed, “There are some bounties that you can’t just pack away nice and quiet in carbonite.”

“What do you mean?”

Cara looked down the hall toward the room that held her friend, saying, “Din told me one time of a pregnant teenage girl he was hired to track down. Freezing her in carbonite wasn’t an option for obvious reasons, and all he would say about it was that it was a _long_ four-day trip back to Navarro.”

She looked back at Paz, “You think he’d be able to deal with the pleadings of the innocent for over a decade and _not_ pack away his conscience?”

Paz looked down the hall. Shaking his head, he said, “I guess not.”

“Of course not!” Cara implored. “He had to force himself not to care. For his own sanity, Paz, Din learned to turn off that part of himself a long time ago. He _had_ to.”

She stared at him for a beat to let that sink in and then continued by saying, “So, yeah, Din turned in the little guy as he did with all the others. Because that’s what he’d programmed himself to do—for over a decade. Hunt the asset, transport the asset, deliver the asset and then move on to the next. When you train your mind to do one thing over and over again for years, you come to a point where you stop thinking about it. It becomes like muscle memory, and you just go through the motions.”

Touching the babe’s ear, her voice became soft, and she smiled, “Except this little guy broke through Din’s defenses—a little later than would have been optimal, but—” Cara looked straight into big blue’s visor and insisted, “Din went back, he saved the child, and that is the important part.”

~~

Paz stood there in the hallway, holding Din’s foundling and listening to everything the former Rebel shock trooper had to say, and he found that he understood. All those months ago, when Paz had vowed to track down Din Djarin and get to the bottom of how he could turn in the child, instead of saving him, he had always had his doubts as to if he would be able to step back and see things from Din’s point of view.

Now, after getting caught up, Paz found that he could. He also found that there was a whole lot about his brother-in-arms that Paz never realized.

Paz had always been grateful that Din had been the Tribe’s _beroya_. He knew the money Din brought in was a significant factor as to how they had been able to continue to rebuild their Tribe after the Great Purge. He just never realized the sacrifices and the toll it had put on the man mentally, and even though he doesn’t have any stories to back it up, he was sure there had been a high physical cost as well.

And, now, Din had to go through this, recovering from injuries he had earned by trying to protect his child. Escaping by the skin of his teeth, Din and his child were still hunted by a man with seemingly unlimited resources.

Paz knew the Moff would never stop until he had the _beroya_ and his _ad_. He also knew after Din had taken him down and won the first round, the scum would be more obsessed now than ever to get his hands on him and the type of punishment he would dole out, Paz didn’t even want to think about that.

He couldn’t stand back and just hope for the best. Whether Paz liked it or not, he was involved. He had gotten himself involved the moment he had stopped that fight; he just hadn’t known it.

Well, he knew it now.

Turning to Cara, he pushed the babe into her arms and marched down the hallway to the door to Din’s room. It looked like it was still closed, and he could hear Cara calling after him, chasing after him, no doubt trying to stop him before he got to the door.

It didn’t matter. She could try, and he would drag her into the room with him if he had to. The medic could try to kick him out, and Paz would relieve him of his concern. One touch to his neck and the man would sleep for hours. He would speak to Djarin, and he would do it now.

The door stood before him, open a crack, and Paz pushed it and strode through. He heard the medic and Din talking as he walked up to the bed, with Cara hot on his heels. Their conversation stopped as Paz stood at the foot of the bed and looked at the bounty hunter. Paz’s gaze ticked to the side and found the medic sitting in a chair beside Din, and both of them were looking at him.

Din took a breath like he was going to say something. Before he could, Paz told him, “Din Djarin, after you are cleared to leave this facility, I will be accompanying you and the child in your travels. End of story.”

The room seemed unnaturally quiet after Paz had made his declaration, and he prepared himself for the argument he was sure to come his way. He fully expected Din to turn him down, and Paz wasn’t against standing in that exact spot until he got it through the man’s thick head that he needed help, and he would accept it. There was no other option.

Din looked at him for a beat, and then he turned to look at the medic next to him.

Giving Din a shrug, the medic told him, “Well, there you go.”

Paz had no idea what that meant, but he was pleased, and maybe just a little bit shocked when Din turned back to face him, saying, “Okay, then.”

~~

Standing with their backs to the tunnel opening, Lant and Cara watched the _Razor Crest’s_ three passengers board. The ramp close behind them, and Lant felt a lot better this time about seeing his friend off than he had the last.

Knowing Din had another warrior onboard traveling with him, watching out for him and the kid, it put his mind a little more ease. It was the reason he felt okay about releasing Din after only a two-day stay, instead of the week he had initially planned.

Earlier, he had talked with the two Mandalorians before their departure. Paz had many questions about Din’s injury and recovery, and Lant was all too willing to take the time and answer them. It was a good sign that Paz was prepared to take on the challenges expected to creep up when recovering from an injury like Din’s.

Lant also made sure Paz understood about his medications, side effects, and the complications of Din’s current setback and what to keep an eye out for. He had explained how to properly massage Din’s muscles if he had another neuromuscular attack, stressing that using too much force would make it worse. He also gave Paz his personal Holocomm chain code, telling him he didn’t have to wait for an emergency before he used it.

By the end of the afternoon, Lant had a good feeling that with Paz’s help and support, Din would finally be able to focus a little more on himself and what he needed to do to make the full recovery he had told him months ago would be possible.

Now, six or seven minutes after he and Cara had watched the ramp to Din’s ship close them inside, he found themselves still waiting for the _Crest_ to fire up.

Lant turned toward Cara, “What’s taking so long?”

“Beats me. Maybe the kid managed to destroy something.”

“That quickly?”

“It’s like it’s his mission in life.”

A moment later, they saw Din move into the cockpit and ease himself into the pilot's chair, followed closely by Paz. They had words, and then Din jabbed a thumb toward the copilot seat and started up the ship.

Lant shook his head and grinned as Din raised a hand to them. He raised his in return and leaned toward Cara, “Twenty credits says Paz has him drugged and tied to his bed by the end of the day.”

Cara smiled wide as she waved back, countering, “Make it a thirty, and you’re on.”

_The End_

**Translations:**

_beroya—_ bounty hunter

 _ad—_ son/daughter

 _ad’ika—_ little one/son/daughter (affectionate)

 _verd’ika—_ little soldier


End file.
